


How To Train Your Black Sheep

by BooBalooPants



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: But also angry, Dom Rick, M/M, Merle Dixon And His Terrible Attempts At Being An Acceptable Human, Merle Dixon Being an Asshole, Merle Dixon Lives, Mild Smut, Rare Pairings, Rick Grimes And His Noble Attempts At Training A Bad Dog, Rick Grimes Being Confused, Rick Grimes and his great right hook, Slow Burn, Sub Merle, accidental ship, but also trying, im sorry, men being dumb at feelings, reluctant feels, that feel when you get sucked into a ship and can't get out of it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:07:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 54,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23059741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BooBalooPants/pseuds/BooBalooPants
Summary: divergent scenario! In which Merle is slowly integrated into the group, and Rick, as a result of this, questions his sanity more than usual. Semi slow-burn Rick/Merle.
Relationships: Merle Dixon/Rick Grimes, Philip Blake | The Governor/Merle Dixon
Comments: 99
Kudos: 91





	1. The Test

**Author's Note:**

> I just really wanted Merle to last longer, so this is my random fix-it scenario. Plenty of scene skipping and implied passages of time (I'm lazy) and crappy writing. Mostly just random scenes tagged together that I thought could be interesting (?).

*

*

The end of the world had brought with it a lot of uncertainties. But with that came a lot of certainties too. 

Most of them involved gory deaths, higher chances of death, and even higher chances of reanimated death. Just a lot of death, generally.

But one very _huge_ certainty, which (surprisingly) didn't involve death at all, was that Merle Dixon was an asshole.

 _“I'm gonna kill him_ ,” Rick said.

He pushed past Daryl and ignored Hershel's protesting but well-meaning words, whatever they might have been. 

Asshole in question was slouched and listless just outside the prison, stabbing his boot into the dirt and watching walkers as if they might have been a part of the scenery (they kind of were). Michonne was nonchalant in a different way; back straightened and stony faced. Her katana was deceptively dipped toward the ground. 

They stood side by side, and occasionally Michonne looked at Merle and he looked at her, but they never said anything to each other.

“You asshole,” Rick said, eyes only on Merle. “ _I never told you to go through with it._ ”

Merle grinned at him, arms out like he was waiting for a hug from an old friend.

“What's the matter, 'Friendly? We're back in one piece, ain't we? Samurai's all accounted for, no harm done-”

Rick swung a punch, hitting Merle square in the jaw. He went down like a dead weight, strewn out on his back. Nobody moved, except for Michonne.

She knelt down to him.

“He let me go,” she looked at Rick with a guarded face.

Rick stared at her. “What?”

“We never even got to the Governor.”

**

“So we're supposed to just trust him?”

Rick wasn't happy. Not that anyone really was when the world had gone to complete shit. But this was just adding to the ever-growing pile. 

Daryl shrugged. “Might be an idea. He's still my brother, y'know.”

It was an idea, but it wasn't a good one.

It was a bad one. A really, _really_ bad one. And with stuff like the end of the world happening all around them (and showing no signs of quitting yet), it wasn't as if Rick could afford himself any more trouble.

But there trouble was; swaggering about the prison as if he'd always belonged there. Siding up to Michonne with what he thought was a charming smile (it wasn't, and she didn't buy it anyway), and talking to Carol as if they might be old friends, or exchanging (un)pleasantries with Glenn and Maggie. Oh, and then getting a good dose of the old moral fibre from Hershel.

“Got somethin' you want to say to me, 'Friendly?” Merle eventually noticed Rick watching him. Or maybe he'd finally got sick of it. 

Rick grimaced and turned away. “Not worth my breath.”

*

Just because Merle was Daryl's brother, it didn't mean Rick had to like it. Or him.

And anyway, nobody liked Merle. Only Daryl. Being brothers and all that. And even Daryl's alignment was pretty tenuous these days.

“I know he's an asshole. Just give him a chance, yeah? He _is_ sorry, you know.”

Rick wanted to believe him. He really did.

Three more altercations with Glenn, and two dozen drug-deprived shredded mattresses later were not helping Daryl's case, though. Daryl himself had even come to blows with Merle a couple of times. Something about previous plans, and a bitter remark about a father. Rick didn't want to know the grim details of the Dixon brothers family history.

He frowned past his shoulder, where sunlight was filtering in through the prison window. It silhouetted another figure that lingered there.

“He wants to come with us,” it was Maggie. “On a supply run.”

Daryl glanced back at Rick. He looked hopeful, or about as hopeful as Daryl's face ever got. “I'll go with 'em. Make sure he don't cause any trouble.”

Maggie's scoff echoed about the prison walls. “You know he will.”

“He needs somethin' to do. Hell, you can't keep 'im locked in here all the time. Asshole'll go stir-crazy.”

“I thought he already was,” Maggie's smile was sarcastic. She kept her eyes on Rick, as if he was supposed to be the voice of reason here.

Rick looked between the both of them.

“Better take Michonne too. She can handle him better than anyone.”

*

The run apparently went without incident.

Daryl lead the group, and there was a modest aura of pride all about him as he dropped their supplies off at the prison gates. Merle, the probable and erratic subject of that pride, was talking endlessly behind him, and Michonne was watching him, her expression neutral and nothing else. Glenn and Maggie took up the rear, completely silent.

Maggie and Glenn didn't speak to Rick much for the next few days. It wasn't a sulk, but it was cool and distanced enough. They'd made their point, and Rick didn't blame them. He still wasn't sure he'd made the right decision, even if Merle had enough sense to keep out his way most of the time.

_Most of the time._

“Did I pass yer test, 'Friendly?” Merle asked him one day.

He was leaning against a cell doorway, and his skin looked pale and slick with sweat, like he might be running a fever or something. Rick didn't care enough to ask about it.

“What test?” he said instead. He supposed he could humour him.

Merle's mouth stretched into a smirk. “Supply run. Think it went pretty well, considerin'.”

“Considering what?”

“Considerin' your group ain't exactly playin' happy families with me right now.”

Rick turned to appraise him properly. “ And what did you expect? You've not exactly made a glowing first impression. Nor second. Or any other, come to think of it.”

“Heh. Guess not,” Merle seemed happy to agree. He rubbed a hand over his brow. “I'm good for runs, though. Shit, ain't nothin' else to do round here.”

Rick considered Merle's roundabout offer with just a touch of appreciation. Only a touch.

Merle was still sneering at him, after all.

**

“What the hell were you doing? I nearly _killed_ you.”

Rick dropped his bunched up hold on the other man's collar, knife clattering out of his hand and onto the prison floor at the same time.

It was late; the sky pitch black through barred windows, and Merle's face was barred with it. He looked only a shade better than a walker.

His lip curled, as he seemed to find some bleary focus on Rick. He wasn't ill, not like the ones in quarantine. He stank of drink and smokes and he was just _blind drunk_.

“Kill me? Woulda been a small mercy, 'Friendly...”

He laughed and swayed on his feet.

Rick grasped his good arm and led him back to his empty cell, dropping him gracelessly onto the bed. Merle collapsed there with a soft groan.

He didn't protest when Rick shoved him roughly onto his side.

“Try not to choke on your own vomit, jackass.”

“...I ain't never sick,” Merle slurred, tilting his head. He squinted at Rick. “Ain't never...”

“Yeah? First time for everything.”

Rick hung in the doorway. He wasn't sure why.

Merle shifted on the bed, pushing himself up onto his elbows. He looked like he was trying (and failing) to sober himself up.

“Was jus' lookin' for somethin' to take the edge off,” he said. “You know how it is.”

Rick blinked at the ceiling, resisting the incredible urge to roll his eyes.

“Yeah, I know how it is. In case you hadn't noticed, we could all use some of that. Ever since the world went to shit and all.”

Merle smirked, and it looked wearier than usual. “Fair point, 'Friendly.” 

It was nothing like an apology, but it'd have to do.

Then Merle leaned forward a bit, blinking slowly in his intoxicated state. "You not gonna tell Daryl, are yer? He's already pissed at me a few hundred times over."

"I can't imagine why." 

"Right? It's a damn mystery."

Rick snorted.

He wasn't sure, but it might have been a moment of amiability between them. Or maybe it was just the vague idea that Merle (even drunk Merle) might not be completely unreasonable after all.

A small miracle, maybe.

Merle started to laugh. "Anyways, you don't wanna upset your right hand man, do ya? That'd cut him up..."

Rick did roll his eyes this time.

"Goodnight, Merle."

*

A few days later, two infected and burnt bodies turned up, and all eyes were on Merle.

Tyreese gave him a black eye, and Rick banished him to C Block for a while, at the insistence of everyone else. Even Daryl didn't oppose the decision. Just looked disappointed.

Merle didn't deny any of it, but he also didn't admit to any of it either. Just sat there in his prison within a prison, talking to himself or staring at Rick whenever he decided to check up on him (nobody else would have done).

“You still think I did it, 'Friendly?” Merle asked one day, a tobacco-scarred arm reaching through cell bars, waiting for whatever food Rick might have brought him.

Rick shook his head. 

He opened the prison cell. “Get out.”

Merle looked curious, cautious even, as he wandered out the cell. Like he didn't trust Rick at all.

 _Hah, but wasn't that rich?_

Merle stared at Rick. "You know who did it, then?"

Rick swallowed thickly. "It's none of your business." 

*

Even if he knew that Merle wasn't the murderer, that wasn't the point.

Rick knew Merle was a ticking time bomb, and he also knew he couldn't afford to keep watch on anyone like that anymore. It'd been bad enough with Shane.

For a while he thought about casting Merle out, but it was getting more and more difficult. And whenever Rick looked at Carol and recalled the burnt bodies, he realised how hypocritical it was.

Besides, Merle talked a lot more. Well, he talked a lot anyway ( _oh jesus,_ but he could talk for all the states of America and then some), but now he talked with other people besides Daryl.

Passing remarks between he and Michonne had somehow evolved into actual conversation, and one time Rick had observed them on the prison courtyard, hanging out in between wasting walkers. Merle swinging Michonne's katana, and she was directing and instructing him with her own arms.

Strange stuff like that.

One time Rick caught Carl pointing at Merle's bladed arm, and Merle was grinning and waving it like some deranged pirate. Carl had looked amused.

Rick was not, and he'd quickly directed Carl away.

“It gets to you, doesn't it?” Carol said one day. Because nothing much got past her.

Rick didn't bother to deny it. “He almost got Michonne killed.”

“But he didn't. And they both came back.”

Rick gritted his teeth, on the edge of frustration. “I just can't trust him.”

Carol looked up from the knife she'd been sharpening so diligently. “We've all done things, Rick."

Rick stared at her, tempted to voice what he already knew. But he held his tongue, and she went back to sharpening her knife. 

"Take him on a run with you," she said. "Maybe you can figure it out then?”

*

*

Rick shielded his eyes against the bright morning sun, and squinted to see Merle leaning against the car door, just outside the prison. He looked cocksure as usual, and when he saw Rick he waved his bladed arm with an indulgent grin. 

“Thought you was gonna stand me up, Sheriff.”

“Was tempting.”

Rick drove, and they sat in silence for only a short while.

“So. You plannin' on offin' me out here?” Merle asked conversationally. He kept his gaze out the window, but Rick could see his smirk wavering in the reflection of the glass.

“What gave you that idea?”

“Just a hunch. I keep getting the feelin' you don't like me or somethin',” Merle rubbed his jaw. “And I'm getting real familiar with some of your folks' right hooks.”

Rick's mouth quivered, noticing the purplish shiner, courtesy of Tyreese, still clear on Merle's face (although Merle had dealt him a good one too).

“We ain't out here for nothing like that. It's just a supply run. The usual stuff.”

Merle tilted his head away from the window, and his smile was sardonic when he looked at Rick.

“I ain't passed your test yet, have I, 'Friendly?”

Rick kept his gaze on the road.

"It's just a supply run."

*

The town was pretty much gutted; not much to loot, unless you were willing to dig a bit deeper and take a few (stupid) risks.

Of course Merle was very eager to do that, and always very happy about it too.

There was nothing respectful about his rampages, but then the world didn't seem to allow for much decency now, anyway. Rick was beginning to realise that people like Merle were made of the right stuff for this world, even if it wasn't the good stuff. Not by a long shot. 

Rick almost found it entertaining; watching the way the Dixon kicked in a door frame, all gungho and fearless about it, busting through cupboards and whistling over food products he'd not seen in too many months or even an entire lifetime.

One of those things happened to be a dusty vintage wine collection.

“Ain't much for wine, but better than nothin',” Merle said, and began bundling some bottles into his bag.

Rick grasped his arm. “That stuff can wait till last. If we got room for it. Essentials first.”

Merle bristled. “This _is_ essentials. Somethin' to take the edge off this whole world gone to shit, remember?”

“So you can get drunk and shamble about the prison again? Remember that?”

They stood staring at each other for just a few seconds, though it seemed much longer.

“Was just one time,” Merle said at last, his lip curling. He moved to pick up another wine bottle, but Rick kept a firm hold on his arm.

“Want me to tell Daryl?”

Another moment of imagined tension, in which Rick half-expected a punch. His hand twitched close to his holster, waiting for something to happen. And maybe it would be better if it did.

An easy way out of the problem. And a good excuse to get rid of their black sheep, at last.

Merle glared at him, and then pulled roughly away from his hold.

“You're no fun at all, Sheriff.”

He stalked out the room, and Rick watched him disappear with an unexpected sort of relief.

He realised he wasn't afraid of a fight with Merle. He'd just been more afraid of it coming to that.

It wasn't the same thing.

*

Rick found Merle in the next door neighbour's house; lounging on a couch with his feet up against a coffee table, flicking through a yellowed newspaper. He looked shortly up at Rick.

“We got some company in the kitchen.”

There was a thumping against the kitchen door. It sounded feeble, and the moans were weak.

“Just a kid,” Merle elaborated. “Want me to do it?”

Rick stared at him. “You don't think I can?”

Merle shrugged. He put the paper down. “Didn't say that. Just thought you wouldn't want to, is all.”

He stood up, bladed arm out as he approached the kitchen door, not waiting for Rick's answer.

There was nothing grim about his expression, nor was there anything remorseful about it either, as he punctured the walker's head in, and the small boy fell to the ground within a matter of seconds.

Merle looked back at Rick with an indifferent face.

“Coast's clear, Sheriff.”

Rick opened his mouth, perhaps to say something contrary, because he didn't enjoy the easy way Merle looked at him. As if he had the right to believe he'd done Rick a favour.

But then there was another moan somewhere behind him, and a hand clawing on his arm. Rick whirled round to see another walker, jaws reaching for his throat.

A bladed arm butted into the walker just as quickly as it had appeared, and Merle shoved Rick out of the way just in time. He finished it off with a triumphant boot to the head.

“Son of a bitch. Didn't see that one comin',” Merle started to laugh. “That was some ninja shit.”

Rick wiped an arm over his mouth. He pushed past Merle and into the kitchen.

“You still find this stuff funny?”

“Sure, why not,” Merle said, but he had stopped laughing.

They rummaged through cupboards in relative silence, though it wasn't entirely uneasy. Rick's heart was still settling with the walker attack, and every now and then he thought about the idea that Merle had just saved him. It was annoying. 

This shit was getting harder to figure out.

“...shit,” Merle said.

Rick looked reluctantly over his shoulder at him.

Merle was leaning against the counter top, pulling bloodied duct tape off his bladed arm with some difficulty. 

“Does it hurt?” Rick heard himself ask.

“Nope,” Merle said without hesitation.

He offered Rick the thin line of a sneer as he lifted his arm back up. It looked red-raw and nasty.

“You should clean it up,” Rick told him. “It'll get infected.”

Offering sanitation advice to the likes of Merle was probably a lost cause, and even stranger that he was offering it in the first place.

Stranger then, that Merle seemed to be considering it.

“You sound like my baby brother. Tryin' to be all sweet and look out for me.”

Rick scoffed. “Just laying some common sense on you. Figured you could use a good dose of it.”

"I'm touched," Merle grinned, and it looked halfway affable compared to everything else that'd happened. Maybe it was just becoming familiar, though.

He went back to taping his bladed arm up, all with another imaginative string of curse words.

“C'mere,” Rick said, after a moment.

"...what?" Merle looked confused.

"Let me see."

Merle pulled a face, but walked over to him.

Rick took his arm, undaunted by the sight of it. He'd seen much worse at this point. He whistled, anyway.

“Really is gonna get infected if you don't change it when we get back.”

Merle sneered at the ground. “You a secret doctor too, 'Friendly?”

“No, just pointing out the obvious.”

Rick took his time about winding the duct tape back around the arm, and Merle stood still and wordless, not complaining or resisting at all. He kept his eyes locked on the ground, where the little walker boy still lay in the middle of the bloodied kitchen.

“I ain't mad about it no-more, you know,” he said, after a while. “Kinda think I prefer the knife-hand.”

He grinned, but it wasn't particularly pleasant.

Rick glanced up at him. “We came back for you, Merle.”

“I know, I know. Baby brother likes to remind me of that every so often. Little shit. Think he's too sweet on you lot.”

Rick finished up the bandaging with an attempt at a smile. He couldn't quite manage it. “And what about you?”

Merle extended his arm, as if he was testing out the work Rick had done on it. He shrugged.

“Guess I've been...influenced by association. Or some bullshit like that,” he looked at Rick, and his smirk was careful. “So I'll probably stick around so long as the baby brother does. See how it all turns out for Officer Friendly and the extended family.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Rick found he was kind of curious, at the very least. 

“C'mon,” Merle said. He shoved past Rick. “Let's grab some more shit before it gets dark.”

Rick stared at his back. “You actually talking some sense? Think I might be losing my mind, here.”

“Smartass,” Merle didn't sound annoyed.

They separated for a short while, and in that time Rick backtracked to the house with the walker boy in the kitchen.

When he reemerged the sun was fast-setting, and Merle was waiting for him against the car. A couple of bags were already loaded and his expression was impatient as a child's.

“What kept ya, Sheriff?”

Rick waved the bag of wine bottles. “Just picking up some last minute essentials.”

Merle grinned at him, and it wasn't unpleasant this time. Rick kind of wanted to return it.

*

*

The sky was blood-red and so was Merle, when Rick finally did return a grin, although Merle didn't see it.

Rick had been busy spending much of the afternoon trying not to worry about a supply run that hadn't come back yet.

Michonne squeezed his shoulder. “They'll be back soon. Don't worry.”

“What if the Governor-”

“Nobody's seen him for months. You know the trail went cold.”

It was supposed to be an assurance; and for all accounts it seemed to be true. Michonne and Merle had taken to tracking the Governor together a few times now, but had come up with nothing. Still, they couldn't know for sure. And sometimes Rick recalled Merle's words about the Governor with all the intensity of awaking from a nightmare in the middle of the night.

The sound of gravel spitting up against tire alerted him, and he ran outside to see the car pull up at the prison gate.

Glenn got out, accompanying Daryl, who cursed and rushed around to the other side of the vehicle.

Rick pulled open the gates and spotted blood sodden seats before anything else, and then Merle was swaggering out the car as if he'd been on a lethal all-night bender.

He was laughing, and there was blood pouring rapidly out of his shoulder.

Maggie emerged from the car too. She looked pale and upset.

“What happened?” Rick demanded.

“Somebody-” Glenn started.

“Jus' a little shoppin' spree that got a bit wild,” said Merle. “Nothin' to worry 'bout...”

Then he promptly collapsed at Rick's feet.

Rick knelt down to him, to clutch at a sweat-slick and blood coated arm. As if that was supposed to help anything.

“Somebody shot at us,” Glenn explained. “Merle was a pretty good diversion.”

“Saved our asses, you mean,” Daryl said, his voice venomous.

Rick kept his eyes on Merle, piecing together what he'd done for them. “You got a death wish or something?”

Merle's gaze momentarily fixed upon him, lips curving up. “...jus' tryin' to keep things interesting round here, 'Friendly...”

Then his eyes fluttered, and he passed out.

Rick baulked. “Jackass."

He started to grin, before realising how redundant and inappropriate it really was.

He looked up at Daryl.

“Help me get him to Hershel.”

*

Of course Merle was going to be fine, but Rick still went to see him anyway.

Standing awkward in the cell doorway, waiting for the right moment to fling out a casual _thank you for saving my family_ sort of thing, when the likes of Hershel and Daryl were finally out of sight.

“You not bought me any flowers, 'Friendly? That breaks my heart.”

“You feeling better?” Rick asked him.

“Feel like shit,” Merle sat up, and flinched with the effort. “Man. You _look_ like shit, Sheriff.”

“You're not looking so good either.”

It was true; Merle looked bled out and weary, even when his teeth shone a wolfish grin in the dark. Rick wondered how tiresome it must be, pretending it didn't hurt.

But Merle was still grinning, as if he knew exactly what Rick was thinking about.

“It wasn't the Gov'ner, 'Friendly. Just ain't his style.”

“Huh?” 

"The Gov'ner," Merle repeated. He tipped his head, to gesture to the bullet wound that was still blooming through his bandaging. “Anyways, I shot that guy dead. Just to be sure it wasn't him.”

His grin didn't disappear, but his eyes hardened a bit.

He'd probably enjoyed doing that too, Rick reminded himself. The end of the world just suited people like Merle.

“Well. Maggie's grateful to you. And so is Glenn.”

Maybe he'd offer his own thanks another time.

*

*

*

When Hershel was killed and the prison fell, everyone scattered; lost or presumed dead.

Rick also died for a short while after that, or at least he felt like he had.

He had dreams that always turned into nightmares. Recalling Judith and her empty carrier. Hershel and his bodiless, soundless head. The usual clichéd waking from fever for a few hours, and Carl yelling and crying and acting out, as every teenager was supposed to do.

Rick really couldn't blame him for it.

The world was a blur for a few days; holed up in a house that was defended by a rebellious teenager and a couch wedged tight against the door. Rick slept and slept, and had a lifetime of nightmares there.

Then one day there was a knock at the door, and he finally woke up.

Sunlight streamed against the front window, and the two figures there were obscured by it, but not enough for Rick to be unable to recognise them at once. His heart hurt in his chest.

“It's for you,” he said to Carl.

Carl opened the door, and Michonne and Merle were both standing there. Rick had never been happier to see either of them.

“You look like shit, bro,” Merle said, his eyes on Rick before anything else as he walked into the house. He patted Carl on the shoulder. “Hey, Sheriff.”

“How're you doing?” Michonne sat with Rick, her eyes flashing concern all over him. "We thought you were dead."

Merle stood to the side, detached from a sentimental moment, his arms folded like a lax military guard. He didn't look very concerned for Rick, but he was concerned about something.

“You seen my brother?” he asked at last.

_Of course._

Rick shook his head. “We lost everyone at the prison.”

Merle stared up at the ceiling, as if debating the answer in his head. Then he looked at Rick again.

“You see Michonne do that number on the Gov'ner? Pretty badass-”

“ _Merle_. This isn't the time,” Michonne said, like a warning. "Check out the other houses," she held her katana out to him and he took it with a nod, as if they'd done that a million times before. Perhaps they had. “We need some more medical supplies for Rick.”

“I'll go too,” Carl said. He glared at Rick before he could begin to protest. “I _want_ to help.”

Rick stared between Carl and Merle, and Merle was already heading out the door, as if he knew Rick so well, and knew exactly what Rick thought of him.

It was enough to make Rick change his mind. 

“Alright. Fine. You can go.”

Merle froze in the doorway, and looked back at Rick in obvious surprise for a long moment. Then he nodded at Carl. 

“Better get movin', son. Before 'Friendly changes his delirious mind.”

Carl slung a bag over his shoulder, already weaving out the door. Merle followed. 

“You take care of him,” Rick called after. “ _Merle_...”

Michonne's mouth twitched a faint smile.

“They'll be fine, Rick.”

“Yeah?” Rick rubbed his hands over his brow, trying to ignore all the doubting twinges in his body. "I hope so."

He guessed he was putting his faith (or whatever was left of it) in some strange things, lately. 

Or maybe Merle was right, and he really was just delirious.

*

It was different on the road; no closed quarters to retreat to after argument or discussion. Everybody was together, noticing the intricacies within each other, for better or worse.

Merle still talked too much, but he often lagged behind too, or disappeared for a while. Then he'd come back with a frown and no explanation. Sometimes Michonne tailed after him.

“He's still looking for his brother,” she informed Rick.

Rick wasn't surprised.

Sometimes Michonne and Merle walked ahead with Carl, and somehow made him laugh. Rick watched them with interest from a short distance; an odd trio balancing down the train track. Something picturesque about it, that could have resembled a pieced-together family. Rick was just happy to see Carl happy for a few moments.

A smile or a laugh was such a rarity now. Maybe that was why Rick found himself looking at Merle more often than he used to.

“What?” Merle noticed it one day. “You think I'm gonna run off or somethin'?”

“I dunno,” Rick admitted. “Your brother's gone. Ain't no reason for you to stick around, is there?”

“Brother ain't gone. Just missing. An' he'll come back.”

The certainty in his voice was admirable, and Rick could have latched onto it. He couldn't quite, though. 

“Yeah, but he's not back yet, is he?”

Merle looked ahead, where Michonne and Carl were still balancing on the rail tracks. “You want me to leave, Sheriff?”

“Do _you_ want to?”

“I asked you first, 'Friendly.”

Rick looked at the ground.

“No, not really. You're handy. In a world-gone-to-shit kind of way.”

“Hah,” Merle said. "'Handy?' Just gonna assume that was an unintentional dig.”

Rick actually laughed. “Didn't even occur to me.”

It also didn't occur to him until a few hours later, when the sun had set and the sky was dark blue, that Merle hadn't answered his question.

It didn't really matter, he supposed. If Merle planned to leave, there wasn't much they could do to stop him.

“I'll keep first lookout,” Michonne said. She glanced at Merle and he nodded. 

"Wake me in a while, then."

That was the more telling response, perhaps.

*

*

They were ambushed that night. 

Amongst random silver linings, tiny moments of happiness, Rick often thought about what Hershel had said to him; about every breath being an uncertainty. Every day, every hour, every minute, every _second..._

He thought about all of that now, embittered and with a knife pressed to his throat. There was a threatening voice close to his ear, muttering something about slow death and other morbid things, all of which paled in comparison to everything he saw in his dreams these days.

Besides, only one single thing mattered in that moment.

Carl was being held by one of the attackers (Rick thought he recognised them, but he couldn't be sure) and though it was dark, he could see where dirty hands was wandering, and what was as going to happen to his son.

_It couldn't end like this._

He saw red, and then _tasted_ it, all hot and raw in his mouth. Flesh flying through the air, and then blood spurting with it.

The red didn't let up; and Rick didn't stop hacking at flesh, until there was a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back.

“Easy, 'Friendly,” said Merle's voice. “Think they got the message.”

Rick blinked; haze lifting. But it wasn't with relief.

Carl came back into focus, and his face was sheet-white. He wasn't looking at the bodies, all strewn about the ground. Just Rick.

 _Everybody_ was looking at him.

On better days, it was oddly easy to forget that the world had gone to shit, and that all their lives were in constant and relentless danger. Tonight had just been a small reminder, Rick realised.

“Shit, man,” Merle laughed, and it was more like a sound of disbelief. His hand still clutched at Rick's shoulder. 

*

*

“Hey. Baby brother's back. Told ya he would be.”

Rick looked up. His head was still ringing, and there was blood still covering his hands. They were still shaking, too.

“ _Hey_ ,” Merle said again. He knelt down, waving a bladed arm in front of Rick's face. “You hearin' me, Officer Friendly?”

Merle's expression wasn't like anything Rick was used to.

He looked _worried_. Maybe he usually reserved that face for the likes of Daryl, or the realisation that his drug stash was all out, but it was interesting to see, nevertheless. Even when Rick's head was still buzzing, and he wasn't sure he could get up anymore.

“I'm okay,” he said. “I'm okay....”

He wasn't.

Merle seemed to hesitate, then he sat down at Rick's side; bones cracking, and a wincing sound accompanying them.

Rick spared him a look, and noticed the fresh blood staining Merle's dirty white shirt. His only hand pressed against his chest with another grumble.

“We gonna have to come up with a new nickname for you, 'Friendly. After whatever the hell that was last night."

Rick cleared his throat, tasting copper in his mouth.

“...you said Daryl's back?”

Merle nodded. “Yeah, man. He's with Michonne and the kid right now.”

“ _Carl-_ ”

“Kid's doin' fine. More worried 'bout you.”

Rick blinked. His face felt wet, and he wiped his eyes to see a line of blood streaking across the back of his hand. He must have looked horrific.

Maybe that was why Merle was watching him like _he_ might be the wild animal for once.

It would have been kind of funny, if the circumstances weren't so awful.

"How's bitey suit ya?" Merle said. "Fer' a nickname, I mean."

Rick spat blood out his mouth. "Shut up, Merle," he said weakly.

Shockingly, Merle did as he was told. At least for a little while.

There was such a small, unfettered silence, in which Rick could hear nothing but the distant sound of birdsong. Some fragile reminder that a scrap of the old world still existed around them. It would have been easy to bask in it, and to forget everyone for a while. Or even forever. That was tempting.

“I wasn't just gonna leave yer, y'know," Merle's voice, full of indignance, shattered the daydream very suddenly. 

Rick wiped his eyes again. His vision was clearing, along with some of his fragmented thoughts.

He looked at Merle properly. 

"You weren't?"

Merle shook his head. He was scowling at the ground, as if it'd insulted him. “Ain't gonna leave no-one who looks out for my baby brother, am I?” 

Rick was taken by the words, of all things. Then he noticed Merle was still holding his bloodied chest, but not in a way that suggested it bothered him much at all. His eyes were settled on Rick, hinting at that strange concern again. 

Rick reached out a hand, very tentative, to pat his shoulder.

"Well, I'm glad you stayed with us."

Merle just stared at him. His brow creased with conflict, but Rick had expected that.

He'd also expected the way Merle shrugged and quickly staggered to his feet, as if to rid himself of something far too intimate. 

Still, he extended his good arm out to Rick.

"Does this mean I passed the test, then?" his smirk was more like a smile. 

Rick grasped his hand.

“You passed it ages ago, Merle.”

It was a realisation more than a remark. 

He guessed this was just one of the more surprising certainties at the end of the world. 

*

*

a/n: I wonder about continuing this. Maybe if I get some interest I'll continue into season 5?? I accidentally started shipping Rick and Merle as I wrote, because this always happens when I write anything at all. oh dear!


	2. Housebroken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> part 2 of accidental multi-chapter slash! In which Rick has a hard enough time remembering his own humanity, never mind Merle's.
> 
> (All of this part takes place through season 5. It's very disjointed. This is just Merle and Rick au stuff. There is also some heavily implied Governor/Merle here. This feels very lazy/rambly, but I guess I'm going with it. Lockdown has sent me down a strange path. Love me some rare pairs, oh yes!)

**

**

There was something to be said for second chances.

Rick had figured, at this point, that Merle must've been one of those. 

Yeah, they were risky, but then so were most things in an apocalyptic new world. And sometimes second chances did actually come through.

_Only sometimes, though._

“'The Pirate'? What kinda lame ass name is that?”

Trust Merle to focus on the least lethal part of their cannibalistic kidnappers. 

Thing was, Terminus had looked promising across sign posts with red-marked proclamations of safety. But the apocalyptic new world had also promised that anything that appeared to be too good to be true... well, it probably _was_.

Ah, but hindsight was a funny and infuriating thing.

“...a _pirate?_ Can you believe that shit?”

Rick nudged him in the side. "You wanna shut up for a second?"

“Just sayin'. Only missin' a hand. Not like I'm wearing an eyepatch or nothin-”

“You want _me_ to shut you up?” Michonne enquired, in a deceptively cool tone.

“Haha. Where's your sword anyway, 'Samurai'?”

“I'll get it back. You can be the first one I test it out on if you like?”

Merle smirked, and then sunk back against the boxcar some more, like he might have been considering listening to someone at last.

“Sanctuary?” 

_No such luck_.

"We was better off on the road, Friendly. Pickin' off walkers.”

Rick grimaced, but didn't have the energy to argue it. More to the point, he knew that Merle was sort of right (yes, the world had turned upside-down, as well as to apocalyptic shit), and many other things would have been preferable to their current predicament.

Rick looked round at everyone else; all bleak expressions outlined against shots of sunlight, peaking through the roof of their new and unwanted prison. Carl was crouched down, still peering through a crack in the wall. 

"They're coming," he said.

Michonne straightened up. “We need to get out of here.”

Merle peeled away from the wall.

"Alright then, Ringleader," he looked at Rick. "We gonna kick some ass or what?"

Rick nodded.

"They're gonna find out they screwed with the wrong people this time.”

*

Carol was one of those Wrong People. She was also one of those Second Chances. 

She emerged from the forest, along with Tyreese, covered in gore but with a happier face, and there was a baby in Tyreese's arms. Something that Rick didn't think he'd see in anything but a dream ever again.

He hugged Carol, and the corners of his vision fuzzed over with unexpected tears.

He passed Judith over to Carl, just to observe his tiny family, finally back together at last. It was a small miracle. 

“Lucky son of a bitch.”

Rick looked over at Merle, who was watching him with a grin that seemed easier than usual.

“What?” Rick said.

“Grimes family must've got nine lives or somethin'.”

Rick laughed, and it was full of relief. He hooked an arm around Merle's shoulders, just for a moment.

“Try and be happy for me, you sick bastard.”

Merle's grin extended, before he shrugged Rick off of him.

“...guess I can try doin' that.”

*

It hadn't escaped Rick's notice that Merle really _was_ trying. 

It was the small things; like the way he paused and seemed to check himself, as if to brace for a random conversation with someone he didn't know very well. He might even have bit his lip, and looked uncertain about it. That was interesting. Even the lilt in his voice, whenever he walked away from an argument with Glenn (or anybody at all for that matter), would've been fisticuffs and black eyes just a few short months ago.

Yeah, these were all very small things, but Rick had noticed each and every one of them. And he remembered them all, too. 

He noticed them again, when they sat together in the church.

It was an odd sort of evening, in which things seemed normal for a while.

“You know what I think?” Merle said, tilting his drink in Abraham's direction.

His eyes were bright and glittered with the effects of wine, and Rick thought about reminding him that he hated the stuff.

He smiled instead, clinking his wine glass to the other's. “No. What do you think, Merle?”

“I think Carrot top's mouth must stink, cos he's spewin' more bullshit than you could drag out of an elephant's ass-”

Rick jabbed him sharply. “Tell me how you _really_ feel.”

“Don't tell me you believe all that shit? About D.C. an' all that?”

Rick shrugged. “They've got a plan, which is more than what we've got right now.”

“Don't need a plan. Just need to survive,” Merle scowled over his shoulder. “An' we don't need no crackpot priests joining us either.”

“Aw, and here I thought you two might exchange lines from the old testament or something.”

“Hah. Like hell,” Merle took another swig of his drink, and pulled a face.

Rick smiled, and took the glass out of his hand.

“Might be easier if you didn't drink stuff you don't like, you know.”

“Screw you,” Merle said. He bowed his head, but Rick noticed he was grinning. 

Yeah, he was definitely trying.

Of course, trying and actually _succeeding_ was an entirely different game altogether.

*

“Ain't leavin' without my brother. Not an option, Carrot top.”

Abraham's lip curled. “Guess we got us a problem, then.”

The stand-off between Merle and Abraham had probably been a long time coming, even though they'd only known each other a few days.

It was funny, because Rick had suspected they might actually get along under different circumstances. Maybe after a drunken brawl or two they'd collapse in mutual defeat and bond over a couple more beers and over the top military stories together.

But that wishful thinking. And despite all of his apparent trying, Merle was still often failing.

And he still didn't play nicely with others.

His bladed arm twitched, his eyes daggers on Abraham, as if he was mentally tearing him apart.

To look at them, it didn't seem like an even fight; Abe was full of muscle and about a head taller. But Merle was... _Merle_ , and Rick was already grasping at his arm, pulling him back. He didn't like to imagine what might have come next...

“Ain't leavin' without Daryl-” Merle growled. 

“That's right, we ain't,” Rick interrupted. He kept his eyes on Abraham. “We're not leaving without him or Carol. I'm sorry, that's the way it is.”

He pretended not to notice Merle's surprised face, and then the way his glare softened.

He stepped back a bit, flanking Rick's side, and Michonne joined his other side. They both looked like a couple of impenetrable bodyguards, and the rest of the group made murmured sounds, glancing between them and Abraham. Eventually, between testy words and snide comments, they all came to a precarious agreement. Abraham threatened another fist in Merle's face, and Merle almost got one in, if not for Rick holding him back.

"Is fighting gonna help us find Daryl?" he hissed. 

"No, but it'd sure make me feel better," Merle's struggles became feeble against Rick though. 

As everyone began to disperse, Merle hung back, still pouting.

“You really wanna stay? Or were you just tryin' to diffuse a situation, Friendly?”

Rick stared at him. “Carol and Daryl are part of the group. We don't leave no-one behind, right?”

Merle didn't say anything. His mouth curved a vague smile as he walked away.

*

*

“Man, I forgot how much fun this shit was.”

Merle booted the ex-police officer again, rolling him over and onto his side with all the gleeful enthusiasm of a kid. He pulled his leg back to deliver another vicious blow.

Rick grabbed his arm, dragging him back. “Cut that out.”

“What? Just dealing out some good ol' fashioned karma.”

“Karma?” Rick wasn't sure he'd ever want to know the details of that. “Just stick to the plan, alright?”

“Whatever,” but Merle stepped back anyway. He blew out a disappointed sigh. “If I knew you was gonna be such a buzz kill I'd have stayed at the church to babysit the crackpot priest.”

Rick rolled his eyes. “We're here to get Beth. That's it.”

Merle squinted sceptically up at the hospital building; it was glowing a warm orange against the sunset.

“We should just shoot em all up,” his smile was strange when he looked at Rick again. “Can't trust cops, Friendly. 'Specially not _world-gone-to-shit_ cops.”

Rick opened his mouth, and thought about asking him the obvious question.

“Well, I ain't a cop no more, am I?” he said instead.

He wasn't sure why.

“You sure as hell ain't,” Merle said.

He shaded his eyes against the sun, and Rick wasn't sure if he was still looking at him, or at something past him. 

"Well, do you trust-"

"Somethin's happenin'," Merle interrupted, and ran past him. 

Just a short while later, between flooring the gas pedal and mowing down another police officer, the words probed at Rick again;

_You sure as hell ain't._

And Merle was right (again). 

*

*

“Guy's an asshole. You know that, right?” Sasha said. 

Rick nodded, on autopilot. “I know.”

She wasn't wrong, but Rick was too tired to do much else about it. Besides, Merle being an asshole was just the status quo these days.

Everyone else would have to suck it up, and Merle would just have to keep trying to get better, that was all.

Rick rubbed his head again. It was burning like fire, and his throat had turned to sandpaper. Every now and then he checked behind him, where the rest of the group generally lagged, having fallen into a congregation of sweaty and bad-tempered spirits.

Daryl was the most elusive of them all, flitting in and out of the forest like an animal on edge. He'd barely said a word since Beth's death. Nobody blamed him for it.

Rick couldn't imagine that Merle would play the part of sympathetic big brother very well. It wasn't as if Daryl was the sort to confide in anyone anyway.

And besides, Merle was busy doing a much better job of being an asshole.

“... _shit, man_ , what was that for?” he flipped Tara off, and she returned it with even greater enthusiasm.

"Go to hell, Merle."

Merle rubbed his reddening jaw as he staggered over to Rick.

“Do you thrive off of being an asshole?” Rick wondered. He slowed a bit, so that Merle could catch up to him. “Or is it always accidental?”

“ _Haha_ ,” Merle's grin stretched. “Was jus' seein' if I could convert her, y'know? Ain't no harm in tryin', right?”

“You deserve a broken jaw and then some. Next time I'll let Abraham keep beating the shit out of you.”

Merle snorted. “Carrot top ain't got nothin' on me. Woulda had him gutted out if you'd given me another minute.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Rick asked.

"Ah, he had it comin'. I told ya they were full of bullshit."

"You didn't know that. You just don't like anyone."

"Not true," Merle said, but didn't seem interested in elaborating. He chewed his lip, and then looked at Rick with a more interested face. "Anyways, thought you'd be the one tryin' to beat up on Carrot top and Mullet, after everything."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

“C'mon. Your balls must be so big, I'm surprised they still fit in your pants, Friendly," Merle's laughter crackled. "Ripping peoples throats out, executing folk in churches...”

Rick took a breath, unconsciously winded by the words; the flashes of everything that he'd done suddenly hitting him like a mental freight train.

He hoped that Carl hadn't heard any of it.

“...mowing down police officers-”

“ _Shut up, Merle_ ,”

Another hand clamped down, hard on Rick's shoulder.

“ _Cool it_ , Rick,” Michonne said, like a warning. Her jaw was clenched; and one arm was braced around her back, ready for her katana.

Then Rick realised that he was holding Merle tight by the shirt collar, drawn up so close that he could see his own furious face, reflected back in faded blue eyes.

Merle didn't struggle at all, slack against Rick's grip. His smirk quivered, as if he was waiting for the inevitable punch to the face.

“...yeah, cool it, Friendly," he drawled. "You got a reputation to uphold here, right?”

Rick pushed him back with a snarl, before noticing the rest of the group had stopped walking. They were all watching him; eyes gathering an apprehension that he was becoming alarmingly used to.

Were they actually _frightened_ of him now?

Rick looked at Carl, but Carl was blinking ahead, as if he hadn't seen any of it.

“Maybe we should-” Michonne said.

There was a rumbling noise above them, before she could finish. Then the skies had broken into grey, and rain was lashing down hard and fast.

Merle raised his arms, making a delighted whooping sound. A few others followed in the childish celebrations, and Rick took a step back, to literally cool himself off.

“Don't let him wind you up,” Michonne said, close to his side. She smiled thinly. “Anyway. I think he kinda meant the big balls thing as a compliment.”

Rick tilted his head up, to catch the rainwater on his face. He sighed.

“And I'm supposed to be grateful about that?”

He lowered his head in time to see that Merle was still watching him, his mouth shaping a frown. He looked away as quickly as Rick noticed. 

“Maybe not,” Michonne shrugged. “But you're one of the only people he isn't a _complete_ asshole to.”

*

*

The thunder continued to roll, following shards of lightning that flashed through the holes in the barn.

It stunk of death, but it was a decent refuge for the night, thanks to Daryl.

He stood away from the group, keeping hawkish eyes on the door; crossbow raised up, as if he expected a walker invasion at any second.

Rick held onto Judith, who slept as appropriately as a baby throughout the entire ordeal. In the darkness, Rick counted up the various bodies sleeping all around them. One of them was tied up, a complete stranger to the group.

Nearby, Michonne and Merle were stood together, talking and occasionally glancing over at the stranger. Theirs were quiet and conspirational sounds, and neither of them looked pleased about what the other was saying. They made Rick paranoid, but also something else, which he couldn't quite put his finger on.

As if sensing this, they both walked over to him and sat down.

“So what's the plan?” Michonne whispered. “You trust this Aaron guy or what?”

Rick kept his eyes on Judith. “I don't trust him,” he admitted.

Michonne rolled her eyes. “You don't trust anyone," she looked at Merle then. "Either of you.”

Rick was incredulous, but Merle much less so, as if he knew she was right.

He carved his bladed hand against the wood floor, and his gaze was careful on Rick.

“Well, I reckon we oughta kill 'im,” he said.

“You want to kill _everyone_ ,” Michonne pointed out.

Merle looked only mildly offended. “That's only a little bit true.”

Michonne turned back to Rick, much more imploringly. “Listen, I think we need to give this guy a chance. I don't...I don't have a bad feeling about him. Or Alexandria. It's not like how it was with Woodbury, or the Governor...”

She trailed off, eyes averting to the ground.

The pause between them all seemed to be hanging in Rick's court, and he was amazed that they were still waiting on him for a definitive answer.

_Still their 'leader', despite everything that had already happened._

“We all have to decide,” he said.

“Then I vote we go with him,” Michonne said at once.

Another pause, and Merle looked away from Rick, scowling at nothing.

“He ain't no Gov'nor, I'll give him that,” he said. Then he stretched out onto his back, as if that was the end of it.

The storm crackled and battered at the barn door as the night wore on, but still most everyone went to sleep, except for Rick.

He stared ahead, watching their 'prisoner', and tried to recall what his own sense of justice was supposed to feel like. Like trying to remember how to be a virtuous cop again. 

_You sure as hell ain't._

It seemed more and more pointless in this sort of world, anyway.

“You thinkin' 'bout killing him?” Merle's voice said. It was softer, and scratchy with sleep.

"No," Rick said automatically. He blinked down, unable to hide his surprise. He wondered how long Merle had been awake, or if he'd ever gone to sleep in the first place. 

“You're bad at lyin',” Merle grumbled. "....I can tell, just hearin' your voice."

"Congratulations, detective Merle."

"Thanks," Merle didn't seem to detect his sarcasm, or if he did, it didn't seem to matter to him.

He stretched out an arm; the intact one, and his fingers splayed out, to curl around staled bits of hay. Only bare inches away from Rick's own hand.

"You think I should?" Rick heard himself ask.

"...hm?"

"...kill him, I mean."

Merle blinked slowly; he looked less awake than asleep. He might have looked confused too.

"...why you askin' me?" then he rolled over, so that Rick could only see the outline of his back.

Rick looked at it bleakly. 

“I just want to keep everyone safe.”

A short sigh, and Merle sounded like he might be falling asleep. "...I'll go with whatever the hell you decide, Friendly."

Rick was involuntarily warmed by the words. He kind of wanted to say _thanks_.

"Good night, Merle," he said instead.

A few hours later, in the aftermath of the storm and stood amongst fallen trees, the entire group voted.

And so it was decided that they would go to Alexandria. 

**

**

**

Alexandria turned out okay, even if returning to some sort of civilisation was still surreal.

It was weird playing happy families, or something resembling that again. Walking down roads that were lined with neatly trimmed front lawns, and occasional faces that looked too clean and oblivious, waving through windows and inviting them in for a chat and a casserole.

These all seemed like concepts from an extinct life now.

But as the days stuttered past, Rick could imagine himself getting more and more used to it; taking it all in with tentative steps.

Sometimes he wondered about Carol and her personality upheaval, but she seemed to be doing okay otherwise.

Other times he thought it might just work, when he saw stuff like Carl talking with the other kids, like teenagers were supposed to do. Or Glenn and Maggie in their own place, looking the picture of a newly married couple. Or Judith just sleeping in a cot in a nursery room, like she was supposed to.

Or even Daryl, fixing up a motorbike, and talking to Aaron as if they might be friends.

Merle was there sometimes, watching from the sidelines with a wary face, like he was obligated to check up on his little brother. Besides that, he spent a lot time pacing about the outskirts of the town like an agitated creature.

As the days went on, he tapered off, and soon he was never around at all.

These were some of those stuttering moments.

“You worried about him?” Michonne asked.

“Yeah,” Rick surprised himself with his immediate response. “Gonna get himself killed.”

“I was more thinking; are you worried about him kicking us out of Alexandria?” Michonne's smile was slight. “But yeah. I worry about that too.”

“Where does he go? I hardly see him.”

Michonne looked sheepish, because of course she knew, and Rick wasn't so surprised about that anymore. Merle and Michonne were kind of friends, now.

“Mostly outside, picking off walkers. Or trying to grow himself some weed,” she added. “I wish I was joking about that.”

Rick sighed in some unexpected relief. He could have laughed.

“Dumbass gonna risk death, just to get high? Sounds about right, I guess.”

“I told him he was being stupid, but he doesn't listen,” Michonne hesitated. She looked Rick up down, as if to appraise him. “He might listen to you, though.”

*

*

The idea that Merle might listen to anybody would have been a bad joke a few months ago. But things were different now.

A lot had happened, and Rick knew that Merle was still trying to be better.

He was still failing a lot too, though.

“You need to housebreak some of your people, Rick,” Deanna said.

She was stood on the porch, her house back-lit by the sounds of music and figures talking in windows.

The little get-together had been going well at first; an official sort of welcoming party for Rick's group. Not everyone had gone; Daryl had opted out, and Sasha had left early. Rick had convinced Merle to come along, because it'd seemed like a good idea in his head. Imagining a single moment in which the Alexandrian's might warm up to him, and realise he wasn't so much a wild dog as they'd thought.

So much for that. 

Now there was blood splitting some guy's lip (Rick couldn't remember his name...Paul...?) and Merle was trying to go in for another punch. 

Rick dug his fingers into his arm. "I'm sorry," he said to Deanna, and dragged Merle away.

They walked (well; Rick walked, Merle mostly staggered and swore) down the deserted Alexandrian street for just a little while. The air was cool and the night sky was clear; it would have been pretty and soothing, if not for the circumstances.

“You're ruining this for _all_ of us," Rick kept a tight hold on Merle's jacket. "Stop being such a jackass for once in your life-”

Merle spat blood out his mouth, yanking away from him. He turned round, in a disorientated effort to confront Rick.

“ _He's_ the jackass...I was doin' ya'll a favour-”

Rick punched him, not particularly hard, but Merle teetered and went down on the ground anyway.

He lay strewn out on his back in the middle of the sidewalk, laughter breathless and echoing about the little town. The glowing light of the nearby house party, still teeming with drinks and conversation, flashed over him occasionally.

“Never even wanted t' go to this dumbass party, anyways...” he raised a hand (the bladed one) to rub his head. “Ah, _shit_ ,” and then dropped it back on the ground.

Rick noticed the thread of blood, sliding thinly down his forehead.

He sighed, and knelt down to him.

“C'mon. Let me get you home.”

“'Home'?” Merle laughed again, but much more sourly. “This place ain't _home_. I'd rather be out there...playin' with walkers...than playin' dress-up...”

He tailed off with an uneven kind of exhalation, more like a shudder. Then his focus returned properly, and his eyes narrowed and trawled Rick's entire body. 

“What're you doin' here, anyway, Friendly? You really wanna play sheriff again?...that really what you want to do now?”

Rick stared at him, and was confused by his own uncertainty.

That wasn't right; Merle wasn't supposed to catch him out like that. Make him question simplistic things, make his stomach twist a knot, and recall everything he'd done to reach this whole _world-gone-to-shit_ scenario. _That wasn't fair._

Rick glared. 

"What do _you_ want, Merle? Cos you ain't helping anyone, least of all yourself, right now."

Merle rolled his eyes to the side. "Spare me another lecture, Friendly. Waste of both our time."

"I'm just trying to do what's right for all of us. You might wanna help with that."

Hah. These people...they're soft as shit. You can't help people like that."

"I can."

Merle shook his head. "Nah. You ain't a cop no more, remember."

Rick opened his mouth to argue the point, but it was difficult when he knew that Merle was right (stupid how that kept happening). 

"We can still help people, Merle."

Merle tilted his head away and glared at the dark sky with a childish pout.

“That Pete's still a jackass, y'know.”

“I'll take your drunkass word on that one. Now get up," Rick held his hand out, and Merle looked at it warily.

"...think I drank too much."

"Yeah, no shit," Rick said. "Now c'mon."

And then Merle took his hand. 

*

*

Michonne was right; because apparently Merle did listen to Rick. 

The change wasn't obvious at first, but it was enough to convince Deanna that he wasn't totally feral. 

He didn't speak to the guy call Pete, nor offer up any apology (not that Rick had expected it), but he did offer himself up for runs, and for guard duty. In between annoying Sasha and antagonising Abraham and Eugene, he was keeping himself occupied; sitting atop the Alexandrian wall, assault rifle in hand. 

He'd become almost ornamental up there, and it made sense. Being ex-military, it was probably some weird consolation for him; to be able to do something useful, and something that he was so good at.

Just like Woodbury, probably.

Rick was just beginning to envision a community in which his entire group might fit in at last, when the world reminded him (as it tended to do, these days) that every day was like the possibility of a new tragedy. 

"Glenn's right," Merle said. And if Merle agreed with Glenn something was seriously wrong.

It was; because Noah had been killed that afternoon.

A routine run that had ended in a couple of needless deaths; and for once Glenn was the one picking the fights and throwing punches, and Merle was holding him back. It was bizarre seeing him attempt to diffuse a situation like that, and Rick could have offered him a pleased glance, if only he had been paying attention.

Of course Merle wasn't very good at playing mediator anyway, but then nobody was. Someone had died, and everyone was looking for somebody else to blame. 

"Was just a matter of time, Friendly," Merle said, later on. "This town don't know what they're dealin' with out there."

"We just need to give them more time."

"You wanna lose more of our own people?"

Rick looked at him. "Since when did you care about that?" he was more intrigued than he wanted to be.

Merle sneered at the ground. "Was just wonderin', is all."

Rick managed a weak smile in his direction.

"Right."

Alexandria was strange like that; something horrific one day, something mundane the next. 

Between tallying up the armoury with Rosita, discussing how to effectively kill a walker with Deanna, and then finding himself smiling at a woman called Jessie, and giving her his opinion on an interesting owl sculpture she'd been working on. It was like whiplash. 

Carol could be relied upon for a good variety of things like that; recipes, weapons, and the idea that they might have to take over the town themselves some day. She'd gotten brutal, but it didn't surprise Rick.

One day she did surprise him, though.

"I need to tell you something."

And then she told him about Pete.

It would be another _I told you so_ moment for Merle (not that Rick was going to give him the pleasure), because as it turned out, Pete really _was_ a jackass.

**

**

Perhaps he should have discussed it with Michonne first, or Deanna, or anyone else for that matter. 

But Merle was there instead, sat smoking atop the Alexandrian wall, and somehow as resolute as that. 

“Hey, Friendly,” he waved. “Nice threads.”

His grin gleamed in the dark, and Rick couldn't tell if his sarcasm was serious or not.

“Hey. You got a minute?”

“Got more than a minute. Bored out my brain.”

Merle hopped down the wall ladder, and gestured to the nearby barricade of barrels as he sat down on one.

“What brain?” Rick said. He sat down and felt Merle's jab, not very hard at all, against his rib.

“I should kick your ass for that, Friendly." 

“You couldn't."

“I could. Just don't feel like it right now.”

“Of course,” Rick smirked a bit.

The pause was easy between them; Rick had gotten used to it. Dare he say, he even kind of liked it. Merle's company was easy. There wasn't any pretence of what he was supposed to be when Merle was there. He didn't have to worry about playing the moral card anymore, because Merle seemed to know him better than that.

Merle seemed to know Rick better than most people, these days. 

Funny how that had happened. 

Rick kept his gaze locked ahead, observing the house he'd left only a few minutes before.

“Oh. I get it,” Merle said suddenly, a grin reaching him. “You want tips on how to get some blondie action, right?”

“ _What?_ ” Rick baulked. "What are you talking about?"

"I've seen the way she looks at you. Pretty damn obvious, Friendly."

“Jessie? You know she's _married,_ right? And anyway, I'm not...that is _not_ why I'm here, Merle.”

Merle looked amused. “Hey. We all gotta get our rocks off sometimes. I get that, man.”

Rick raised a brow at him.

"You do?"

He wasn't sure what prompted his interest. Maybe it was the unusually careful way that Merle glanced at him, as if to gage his own reaction.

And Merle didn't do 'careful' very often, after all.

“Well, sure,” Merle said. “Still got my one good hand, don't I?”

Rick snorted. “Sounds real romantic.”

“Romance ain't necessary,” Merle adjusted his rifle strap, easing it around his back some more. It was a rare and unguarded poise, and when he looked at Rick again his expression was even more so. “Gov'ner wasn't into none of that romantic shit, either.”

Rick blinked, and absorbed the words with a ripple of shock.

“What?”

“Weren't nothin' serious,” Merle said, like some casual admittance. “He was horny as hell, an' so was I. Worked out a pretty good deal for a while there."

Rick curled his lip. “I didn't know you-”

“Ain't the first time,” Merle interrupted him. His eyes traced Rick's own for a few long seconds, and his smirk faded a bit. He flicked a cigarette out on the floor. “Reckon it's gonna be the last time, though.”

Rick cleared his throat, suddenly noticing how dry it was, for whatever reason.

He shook his head at the ground. _“Damn_.”

Another pause, and it wasn't awkward, but it gave room for Rick to think about things that made heat creep up and onto his face. He wasn't sure why.

“What did you want, anyway?" Merle said, as if he was oblivious to everything (maybe he was). "Figure you're not here to find out about my nooky action since the world went to shit.”

“...that is true.”

Rick took a few seconds to regather his thoughts, and then he relayed everything that Carol had told him about Pete; his temper, his dealings with Jessie and the kids, and the implications that came with all of that. It was a relief to tell someone else, or to at least get an insight other than Carol's and his own, which were both broken in their own ways. Never mind that Merle's might be the most broken of all. 

To his credit, Merle straightened up; brow creasing and hand perhaps unconsciously pulling the gun strap back around the front of his torso. It was funny, or maybe heartening, to see him shift into something so alert and so _serious_. Like he actually cared.

Rick liked seeing it.

“Well," Merle said at last. "Guess I could kill him. If you like.”

He looked at Rick with a certain level of expectancy; as if Rick was supposed to confirm it, or give the official order. 

There was something both incredibly flattering and awful about that.

Rick hesitated. "We don't need to be so hasty. Not yet."

“Ain't gonna get better, y'know. People like that don't.”

"You did," Rick said, unthinking. 

Merle scowled. "I ain't a wifebeater. Only ever knew one."

"I didn't mean..."

Merle just waved his hand, batting away the idea as if it didn't bother him at all. “Just tell me when. I'll be happy to take the asshole out.”

Rick considered, before pressing a hand onto Merle's shoulder. Merle barely flinched (he usually did, before shrugging him away). 

“It's like you're my right hand man or something."

Merle laughed, and raised his bladed arm. “You know that's impossible, 'Friendly.”

He didn't shrug Rick away this time, though. 

*

*

*

Merle killed Pete a few weeks later. 

In the heat of it, Rick didn't have any regrets. Pete was a murderer, and he'd had it coming.

But the aftermath was always going to be very different. 

The way Michonne looked at Rick, as if _he_ was the one who'd plunged a bayonet into Pete's throat. Or the way Daryl's face twisted into something like disappointment, when he looked at his older brother again. And then Deanna, standing at the freshly dug grave site of her husband.

There were two pools of blood still crawling out and along the roadside. Nobody wanted to clean it up yet. 

"What a shit show that was," Merle said.

Rick blinked away from the bathroom window, and stared at him. 

Merle was slightly hunched over the sink; water and blood spiralling down it like bright red ribbons. He was having some difficultly cleaning the majority of the gore off of his bladed hand. 

Of all the things, of everything Rick had seen, it was weird how it was _this_ that made his chest hurt, and somehow remind him of his own conscience. How stupid.

He spoke to the ground;

“I ain't your Governor, you know.”

Merle looked up, face reflecting confusion in the mirror. “Hell you talkin' about?”

Rick leaned against the door frame, massaging the ache in his temples.

“I mean...I'm not here to order you about, or make you do the dirty work.”

Merle's mouth twitched into a sneer. He wiped an arm over his brow, before turning around.

“Ah, that's a real shame. I always liked gettin' down and dirty with you, Friendly.”

“Can't you be serious for once?”

“Always am,” Merle shrugged, and seemed to mean it. "Don't be a dumbass. I know you ain't the Gov'nor."

He peeled slowly away from the sink. Only a few steps away from Rick, but made no attempt to move past him. His bayonet arm still dripping blood onto the white tiled floor. 

Rick wasn't inclined to move either, for whatever reason. Their gazes held, and Rick could feel his breath hovering in his chest, waiting for Merle to say something else, far more significant.

Of course he didn't.

Merle raised his arm and pulled the rest of the duct tape off. "Think I need a replacement," he looked at the broken blade with a sorrowful face.

"We'll get you a new one," Rick said. 

"Thanks," and then Merle smiled vaguely too. "Hah. Weren't you supposed to be house breakin' me or somethin', Friendly?"

Rick snorted. "I dunno. I ain't a cop no more, remember?"

Merle's nod was slow, as if he was truly deliberating it. And that was a rare thing, Rick had come to learn. Merle didn't deliberate anything or anyone for very long, usually.

His gaze slid to the side, as if recalling something more important. 

"Anyway," he said. "If you was anythin' _like_ the Gov'nor, pretty sure I'd be gettin' good n' screwed right about now.”

He pushed past Rick, before he could properly respond to that.

It wasn't as if Rick could fathom his own reaction anyway; inexplicably heated cheeks and ears, palms clamming up and fingers curling harder against them. Not really forming into fists, but something just as tense.

" _Merle_ ,"

He reached out and grasped Merle's good wrist, effectively spinning him back round. 

"Hm?" Merle raised a brow. 

“I'm not your Governor," Rick wasn't sure anymore, whether it was a reassurance to Merle or himself, as he pulled at a blood-stained shirt sleeve.

In any case, the gap between them blurred away into nothing, and Merle's lips felt softer than Rick had expected them to be.

Merle did not resist at all, even if he did look surprised, as he slipped backwards against the bloody sink. 

“...shit,” he murmured instead, mouth flickering an uneven kind of grin. The blade fell from his good hand, clattering noisily onto the floor. 

And then he let Rick kiss him again.

**

**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This pairing crept up and then hit me hard. Very sneaky. will unstable ex-cop and trash king actually get together?? will Rick be more romantic than the Governor? Does Merle even like romance? Will he ever say something nice, besides how big Rick's balls are (probably not)?? and what will happen when Negan finally appears?! Many questions...and possibly not that many answers, in the next (possible?) chapter! 
> 
> Please leave a comment! I would appreciate it a lot. And tell me what you'd like to happen, I'm intrigued! Also please try to forgive bad writing. I write this crap in the earliest hours.
> 
> (note: 'the pirate' is in reference to the nicknames the terminus folk gave our crew! I thought that might fit Merle.)


	3. The Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 3 of accidental ship! Rick regrets and reconsiders a kiss, as well as many other things happening in a post-apocalyptic kind of world. Merle continues being Merle, but now with added flirting. 
> 
> This chapter is set through most of (but not all) season 6 of the show. 
> 
> (implied smutty times ahead. Nothing graphic, so don't worry your eyeballs if you don't want it. Lots of sap and bad writing though, so maybe do! I owe my intensifying love for this ship to a friend. You know who you are!)

**

**

He must've lost his mind for a while, that was all.

A couple of unfounded kisses, a few fumbled seconds later, and then Rick had found it again.

He pushed Merle away.

“Sorry,” he said. There wasn't much else to say about it.

Merle had looked amused and breathless all at once; skin flushed pink, chest visibly pounding through fabric, and a tremble in his better arm as he lifted it up.

He wiped the back of his hand over his grinning mouth.

“Heh...you're a good kisser though, ain't you?”

They hadn't spoken about it since, not that it mattered or made any difference at all.

Rick found himself visiting Jessie more, making small talk and acknowledging her pretty smile, but unable to completely succumb to it.

The problem was that he hadn't forgotten the way Merle's mouth felt. Nor how quickly his gaze had flickered, and had become as compliant and _easy_ as the rest of him; limbs all braced, yet still resigned to whatever Rick wanted to do to him.

Oh, but Rick hadn't expected _that_. And he couldn't forget it, either _._

“...Friendly? We gonna fuck or what?”

Rick blinked away from the quarry, shading his eyes against the beating sunlight.

“...what?”

“Just tryin' to get your attention,” Merle waved a bladed arm in his face. His clothes were ringed with sweat, and little curls of hair were plastered to his forehead, hinting at an unkempt look that made Rick stupidly curious. “What's the matter? You still thinkin' about how much you wanna bone Blondie?”

Rick rolled his eyes. “You always gotta be so crude about everything?”

“Only when I feel like it.”

“Well you're wrong,” Rick hesitated, noticing the way Merle kept his doubtful grin directed at the ground. “You think it's too soon? After Lori?...and Pete?

“Nah,” Merle said, without any hesitation. “Things are different now. And she's pretty. And you're...fine, I guess.”

Rick laughed. “I'm 'fine'?”

“Shut the hell up.”

As it was, Merle didn't seem to care about Rick's 'moves' on Jessie. He was even polite to her (or Merle's version of polite), though he always looked away whenever Rick kissed her.

Now he stared down into the quarry, where walkers were raising arms, moaning in some morbid chorus. Merle kicked a rock down at them.

“You want me to come with you lot or what?”

Rick shook his head. “No. I think Alexandria is better off with you looking after it.”

Merle frowned at him. “You want me to _look after_ somethin'?” 

“Yeah, I know. I've lost my mind.”

Merle kicked another rock into the quarry, hitting a walker on the head. "...you really think this is gonna work?”

His face was expectant when he looked at Rick, as if Rick was supposed to know what he was doing, and Merle actually _trusted_ him.

They both must've lost their minds, then.

**

It was pretty obvious, in retrospect.

Never mind all the prolonged glances that multiplied into a telling second, third or _fourth_ , until Rick was sure he spent far more of his time looking at Merle than not. Nor the regret that reached him, when he thought he wasn't ever going to see that asshole again, after a couple of near-death encounters whilst out on the road.

Still, when things _really_ went to shit, it was so much easier to find Jessie first, just to make sure she was okay. Far easier to explain to anyone that cared to notice, too.

She was okay, and she kissed him and told him that she was glad he was okay too. It was all very simple. 

But Rick just stood about in her kitchen for a while, painfully aware of the questioning eyes of kids he barely knew, and whose dad was still mostly fresh flesh in a grave site.

The guilt seemed to radiate off of him, and Rick needed to leave.

“Thought you was dead,” Merle looked pleased, when Rick eventually found him.

He was sat in the dark, and close to the Alexandrian gates, alone and on guard duty. Rick could see the tension in his limbs, before he'd even sat close enough to him.

“My brother back yet?”

Rick avoided his gaze. “Not yet.”

“Uh huh,” Merle made a soft sound, like a sigh. Then he picked up his rifle and started to stand up.

Rick caught his shoulder. “Where you going?”

“To find him. Duh.”

“ _Dumbass_. It's crawling with walkers out there right now.”

“Ain't gonna stop me.”

“ _I'm_ gonna stop you,” Rick held his shoulder tighter. “You can't just leave, Merle,” the insistence in his tone was harsher than he'd intended. It surprised even himself.

Merle looked surprised too. “You gonna try and stop me?”

“If I have to. I need you here...” Rick reconsidered. “ _We_ need you here.”

“Right. These people need me like a hole the head,” Merle looked at Rick then, in some tired amusement. “Can't convince you to help me find him instead?”

Rick shook his head. “I'm sorry. But you're staying.”

In any other instance, if it had been _anyone_ else, Rick knew that Merle would have punched him out and gone off to do whatever the hell he wanted.

Instead his shoulders slackened, and he lowered his rifle.

“So. What's Plan B, Friendly? Better be a good one.”

“You think I got one already?”

“You usually do," Merle rubbed an arm over his eyes, and then glared at the sky. “Damn baby brother. Nothin' but a pain in my ass.”

“I'm sure the feeling is mutual," Rick hesitated. “Daryl's gonna be okay. He's a Dixon. And you guys don't fall easy.”

"You reckon?" Merle didn't look so convinced; like he was trying to swallow a compliment in the form of some bad medicine. Then he looked Rick up and down, as if seeing him properly for the first time. “Guess I'm glad you're not dead, by the way. Getting kinda used to your dumb face."

“Good to see you too, Merle.”

Rick realised that his hand was still on Merle's shoulder. He slowly retracted it.

They sat down in silence for a while, before Merle was stretching out onto his back in the grass, and falling asleep.

He did look exhausted, for whatever reason.

Carol came by just a bit later, dried blood that looked black in the dark all staining her clothes. 

She smiled wearily at Rick. "No Daryl, yet?"

Rick shook his head. "He'll be back, though."

"I hope so," then she looked at Merle, with an interested face. "I thought he'd be out looking for him by now. You've got him on a tight leash, Rick."

"Hah. Don't know about that."

A few hours later the watchtower collapsed, and everything changed.

**

**

**

Carl Grimes wasn't going to die.

If nothing else was true, Rick had determined that this was certain within his mind.

_Carl Grimes wasn't going to die._

The blow of Deanna's death, Jessie's death, _even the other kids' deaths, for christ's sake_ , were all so incidental and trivial in comparison.

If nothing else came out of this nightmare alive, surely Carl would.

“He's alive,” someone said, but Rick didn't really hear the words, nor who they even belonged to.

Same as the shadows of figures standing around the ramshackle medical room (just a converted garage). They could have been walkers, for all that it mattered. For a while Rick's mind blanked, and detached from everything else.

He stormed the town; swarming with walkers, and fear completely abandoned him.

He barely noticed the likes of Michonne; armed with signature katana, joining him in his fierce bloodbath.

Then his other side, where Merle was blood-streaked with a bladed arm raised; his mouth gleaning the sort of vengeful snarl that Rick felt in the pit of his own stomach.

There were others too, although Rick didn't think about much else besides Carl; and every tiny mistake, hesitation, that might have led them all to that frenetic moment.

“Rick,” Michonne said. A tentative hand on his shoulder.

The tired faces of everyone else stood behind her, and there were blood dripping sleeves and ragged breaths misting the cool air all around them. Someone cursed, and Rick wondered, absently, if he'd been bitten. The thought didn't concern him so much in the moment.

He thought about going to find Jessie, before remembering that she was dead again. The short jolt of realisation caught him by surprise, and nausea reached the back of his throat.

He shrugged Michonne off. He just needed to see Carl.

**

**

**

Time made a difference, as it tended to.

Carl got better, and yes, he was going to be more screwed up, but he was doing a much better job of dealing with it than a lot of the people who looked at him, or decided to avoid his gaze altogether.

Then there was the town itself; slowly healing, and Rick pouring over Deanna's notes with the likes of Michonne, Glenn and Maggie, determined to continue an idea that wasn't just forgotten blueprints.

Occasionally Merle stopped by, but not for very long. He'd just stand in the background, unusual in his silence around everyone else.

Rick thought about asking if he was okay, but Merle asked him first.

"You look like shit."

(Or asked as well as the elder Dixon could ask anything that bordered on concern).

"Thanks, Merle."

"You okay?"

"Yeah," it was a lie, of course, but that didn't matter.

Merle wasn't the sort of person who'd pry, probably because he just didn't care that much.

Instead he nodded in Carl's direction. "You got a tough ass kid there, Friendly. So stop worryin'."

And somehow it made Rick feel better.

"You wanna come with me?" Rick asked him. 

"Come where?"

"On a run. Just anywhere."

Merle jumped off the Alexandrian wall ladder. "I'm always good for anywhere."

He always seemed much happier on runs, and Rick could understand it. He was starting to feel the same. 

They were in part to avoid Alexandria for a while, and everything associated with what had happened there. A temporary break from an empty kitchen where Jessie and her kids were supposed to be. Or Spencer's accusatory face, whenever Rick and he happened to cross paths. Or even Carl, with a bandage tied across his face, which couldn't be helped anymore. Such were the problems with living in a tiny gated community in the middle of the apocalypse. 

Rick needed an escape, and he was starting to see the appeal in Merle's 'lone and demented wolf' kind of attitude.

For just a short while, he thought he might be starting to get over everything.

*

*

“What the hell is that, Dixon?”

Merle grinned over the crate of soda cans he was carrying.

“Promised that rug muncher I'd get her girlfriend some of these.”

“ _Tara_ ,” Rick said, and whacked him on the head. “Stop sayin' that shit.”

“Ow,” Merle dumped the box in the back of the car. He cast Rick a half hearted glare. “I'm doin' them a favour, ain't I?”

“You want a gold star for acting like a normal human being for a change?”

“Yeah, or whatever else you got,” Merle muttered, rubbing his head. “You gonna help me scope this place out or d'you just enjoy watchin' me do all the work here?”

“Hm. Guess I just enjoy watching you work.”

They'd parked up at dilapidated gas station, and Merle had jumped out like an eager animal, snooping about broken windows and kicking up boxes of junk with his usual childish and obnoxious delight. Every now and then he'd come across a decaying walker; finish it off with a neat stab through the throat, then offer Rick a roguish grin. Like he was expecting him to cheer him on or reward him or something ridiculous like that.

There was something weirdly endearing about it, though.

They split up for a while, both taking either side of the gas station, before meeting inside. Merle was already in there, rolling around on a shopping trolley and helping himself to a few cans of beer that were still scattered about the aisles.

He chucked a can at Rick. “Tastes like shit, but better than nothin'.”

Rick considered the can shortly, before snapping it open.

He took a long swig, and watched as Merle began chucking a few more sodas into his bag.

“Girl said she wanted some different flavours,” he said in explanation, as if he could feel Rick's gaze. “Hell if I can remember what they were though.”

Rick hid his smirk behind his drink. “You know, things would go a lot better for you if you did this kind of stuff more often.”

“What stuff?”

“You know. Be nice to people?”

Merle's shoulders shook with a spiky laugh. “Nah. Leave that sort of shit to the baby brother.”

Rick thought about pointing out that Merle was doing 'that sort of shit' already, but then decided against it.

He took another swig of his drink, and pretended the items on the nearby shelf were far more interesting instead.

Merle was a good distraction, though. A sort of 'project' that could keep Rick busy for a while, until his mind felt normal again. Perhaps that was what it was. 

"I'm covered in this shit," Merle complained. 

He lifted his bladed arm up to inspect it, and then pulled the blade off along with the rest of it. His skin was caked in dried blood, and there were lines of stress cutting up his bare arm.

Rick looked at the stump with practised dis-passion. He'd seen it a fair few times now, and it'd always looked nasty, but now the point only seemed to be emphasised. All gnarled and blackened flesh.

Merle's gaze flickered back to Rick, and he suddenly looked sheepish. He pushed the arm cover back into place.

Rick shook his head.

“You know I've seen far worse. Your face, for example.”

“Hah. Screw you, Friendly,” Merle rolled another couple of cans into his bag, and then picked his rifle back up, shifting it up and over his shoulder. “So. What's goin' on with you and Michonne, anyway?” he said, as if it was the most obvious question in the world.

“Huh?”

“You know what I'm talkin' about. Girl got eyes on you for days.”

Rick heard himself snort, an incredulous sound.

“Don't be stupid. She doesn't see me that way.”

“If you say so,” Merle pushed away from the counter, then walked over to the broken display window to look outside. “But you got eyes on her too, right?”

Rick stared at him. “ _Jesus, Merle_. It's only been a couple of months since Jessie.”

“...right,” Merle had the decency to look sorry. He turned away, so that Rick couldn't see his expression anymore. “I've just been wonderin' about some stuff, is all.”

He didn't need to elaborate any more; Rick knew exactly what stuff he was wondering about, only because he found himself wondering about the same thing, and a lot more often than he would have liked.

_You're a good kisser though, ain't you?_

Shit.

“Lets get out of here,” Rick scrunched his beer can up, and tossed it on the floor.

"Right," Merle straightened at once, and followed him out into the fast-fading sunset. He squinted and pointed over at the food truck, a few yards away from their own car.

“It's probably already been looted,” Rick said.

“Bet you all the booze it's not.”

"Fine, you moron."

Merle ran to the truck, and booted the back end of it a couple of times, before the door started to judder and come loose. It lifted noisily up.

Rick didn't need to see the inside of it; Merle's grin told him more than enough.

_Damn, he'd never hear the end of that._

“Jackpot,” Merle said. And then a smug look in Rick's direction. "No hard feelings. You can keep all the vodka.”

*

The run was turning into something of a success.

Besides a literal truckload of food supplies and the continuing idea that Merle was getting better at being a better person, Rick was actually beginning to feel a little better in himself.

The trouble was; whenever something got better, invariably some other things would always get much worse.

That applied to life before the apocalypse, sure. It was just that the 'worse' things always seemed to happen on a grander and much more terrifying scale these days.

Rick was getting better at preparing for that, but some stuff still caught him off-guard.

He was scoping the gas station out one last time, before absently realising that Merle was nowhere to be seen. That was never a good sign, by itself. 

An instant later there was the sound of gunfire.

Rick had about a second to contemplate whatever mess Merle had gotten himself into (the options were many and all very terrible), before he noticed the herd of walkers, already descending upon the gas station.

Then another gunshot, and Rick looked round again to see Merle standing in the back of the food truck, surrounded by groping walkers.

“... _dumbass_ ,” Rick said, and ran over, pulling out his handgun.

He began shooting with very little concern for his targets, his mind mostly focused on getting to Merle and dragging him away from the food truck.

Merle seemed to have other (very dumb) ideas, though.

“We can't leave this shit, man. This'll last us weeks!”

“ _Get the hell down from there_ ,” Rick said, and shot another walker clean through the head.

Merle cocked his rifle. Even though he was one hand less, it never seemed to stop him from being quick on the draw. He shook his head in Rick's direction.

“Get back, Friendly. I got this.”

“You've got a hole in your brain, is what you got,” Rick told him, and clambered the rest of the way up and into the truck. He glared at Merle. “ _Jackass_.”

The walkers were beginning to climb into the truck too, and although Merle was doing an admirable job of kicking them back, their numbers were becoming too overwhelming.

Rick looked around in a panic, before finding the truck's door handle, dangling like a wire just above them. He pulled it with a grunt, and the entire vehicle shuddered and whined as the door came crashing down, blocking out walkers (and snapping off a few walker limbs in the process) before plunging them into darkness.

“Hah, _shit_ , Friendly. I thought we was-”

Rick cursed in the same instance, and in the next he was snarling and finding a grasp on a shirt collar.

He slammed Merle hard against the side of the truck. 

_"You dumb asshole, Dixon_."

Merle groaned, head rolling back.

"...the hell was that for? If you wanted some action, you coulda just asked-” 

“ _Shut up_ ,” Rick scrunched at bloodied clothes. “Are you _trying_ to get us killed or something?”

Merle's sneer was obstructed by the darkness.

"...what? You gonna go all 'Governor' on me now, Friendly?”

"Told you to _shut up_ ," and Rick slammed him against the truck again.

Merle's head hit metal with a 'thunk', and then his entire weight sagged a bit against Rick's hold.

Another groan, and he started to laugh.

"...that ain't very nice..."

The tiny space between them was suddenly unbearably heated, and Rick could feel panting breaths, so close to his own.

“I already told you," Rick spoke slowly. "I _ain't your Governor_.”

“...oh yeah,” Merle sounded dazed, and his grin was becoming more like a grimace. "I remember that." 

He tilted his head away, and though it was still dark, Rick could see that he was rolling his eyes.

“...so, you gonna screw me, or what?” 

“What?” Rick blinked, in some confusion.

“...you heard.”

Merle's expression wasn't cocky or presumptive, though. He might even have looked anxious about it.

Rick curled fingers tighter against crumpled shirt, and watched the flutter of Merle's throat, as he attempted to shift again, against his pinned position.

He looked uncomfortable, but Rick didn't relent; just held him even tighter.

"What're you talking about?" he said, even though he already knew the answer, of course. 

Merle sighed, like it was a chore. “...maybe I'm being a real dumbass, but-”

“Yeah. You're _always_ a real dumbass,” Rick assured him.

Then he leaned in, closing the irrelevant and irritating gap between them. 

He kissed Merle hard and with furious intent, neglecting any need for consent.

Maybe it was the remnants of a time when he'd truly disliked Merle, reaching and taking a hold of him for a few seconds; his mouth pressing and biting at flesh and drawing out gasps and moans that could only have been sounds of pain.

Or maybe it was a chance to vent all of his frustrations on something... _someone,_ at long last.

Lori, Jessie, Carl...everything that the new world had fucked up for him.

“...aa... _shit, Friendly_...you tryin' to eat me up or somethin'...?”

Or maybe it was just the easiest way to shut Merle up. 

“ _Shut up_ ,” Rick said, around another messy kiss. “For once in your life, _shut the hell up_.”

"...okay..."

Merle didn't say anything else; it wasn't as if he had much choice in the matter, anyway.

Instead his good arm scrambled around Rick's back, fingers trying to find a grip, whilst the edge of his bladed arm scraped up and down the side of the truck. Rick barely registered any of it.

Time blurred and disappeared for a while, and all he really noticed or understood was the glistening, dirty heat of skin; pulsing with stuttered sounds that were becoming far more rhythmic and urgent. They only made Rick more determined.

“...hah... _aa._..” Merle's voice crackled, and sounded faint, even though it was so close to Rick's ear. 

Rick tilted his head, vaguely aware that he was dripping sweat down his back, and that there were legs curling around him, spasming out a bit.

"..,it's okay," Rick said, as eyes fluttered in front of him.

A curve of fingers dug into his shoulder blade, and then another cursing sound, albeit much weaker. 

Rick was pulling at useless clothing, before he saw the way Merle's jaw had slackened open, and then all the blood, threading down his lip.

"... _uhh_..." Merle looked like he was in some pain. 

“ _Shit,_ ” Rick said, and dropped away all at once. 

His legs felt very heavy, and he sunk down, to sit on an empty food crate.

For a few moments there was only the sound of his heart pounding in his ears, then some uneven breaths accompanying that, before Rick remembered that they were not his own.

He looked up, to see Merle was still slumped back against the wall, the outline of his chest moving up and down at a rapid rate. His shirt was torn and half-hanging off his elbows, and his skin was all shining sweat.

He tilted his head up to the ceiling, exposing the fresh and purplish marks all on his throat.

"I'm sorry," Rick heard himself say. 

Merle wiped his mouth, smearing away some of the blood that was still there.

"...for what?" he sounded breathless, and he was smiling. "...was fun."

Rick scowled, more to himself, only because he realised he couldn't dispute it.

It was still pretty dark in the truck, but he could see the way Merle's expression dropped, and then how his body slid down the wall a bit more, with the same sort of relief.

"...uh. I think you tenderised me good, Friendly."

His good hand clutched at his side, and it hit Rick's conscience with the sort of burn that had haunted him for some weeks now. 

“This is all my fault,” he realised. "Shit."

“Ain't your fault, dumbass. I was the one who got in the damn truck-”

"No. I mean everything else. I mean Jessie, the kids. Deanna... _Carl_....”

Rick trailed off, unable to complete the terrible revelation, even within his mind.

He could still hear the moans of walkers chorusing outside, along with the occasional scrape of fingers against the sides of the truck. They weren't threatening in the same way anymore; they only served as a persistent reminder of why they were in these situations, these days.

“That's some real bullshit,” Merle sounded annoyed. 

He peeled slowly away from the wall, wincing with the motion, and then walked over to Rick.

He sat down, close enough.

"Ain't your fault, Friendly. I mean...you say _a lot_ of shit, don't get me wrong," he seemed to consider, through a well-worn smirk. "But you kinda talk some sense sometimes, too."

Rick wasn't convinced. "Tell me when?"

"You was right about my baby brother. Daryl came right back. Just like you said he would."

" _Hah_. That's just cos he's a Dixon."

"Nah, nah," Merle shook his head, then he raised his good hand.

It wavered, before resting on Rick's shoulder; dirty fingers slowly spreading out, and then clutching in a shockingly delicate way. But still enough for Rick to feel the warmth there, seeping into his own prickling skin.

It was in sharp contrast to the brutal intimacy that had happened mere moments before.

“So quit shit talkin', Friendly. That's my job, right?”

Merle's smile was as practised as the rest of him, as if he was never quite sure if he was doing the right thing. Rick guessed that he had very little to go on when it came to offering any sort of consolation.

And yet he was trying, anyway.

Rick felt the corners of his mouth lift.

“Careful, Dixon. You keep acting like a decent person, people are gonna think you actually _are_ a decent person.”

Merle didn't look bothered for once.

His arm slackened to his side, and Rick noticed the blood running down it.

“...you didn't get bit, did you?” 

“...uh. Only by you. Does that count?”

“Ass,” Rick said, full of relief. 

Merle looked amused.

He lifted his bladed arm up, and twisted it around experimentally. "Maybe I should take the knife off next time."

Rick cleared his throat, trying not to imagine the 'next time', although it came very easily to him.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. As if it would ease his conscience at all. "I was pissed...about everything else. I didn't mean to take it out on you."

"That what it was all about?" Merle's smile fell a bit.

He shrugged his shirt back over his shoulders, and then slid a hand up the edge of his bladed arm to get rid of the blood that was still there. 

Rick stared at it, hit by an odd pang of sympathy.

“You never told me what happened to you."

Merle raised a brow. “My hand? I cut it off, remember. The end.”

“No, I mean after that. ”

"Does it matter?"

I guess not. I just wanted to know."

Merle blew out a sigh, as if he'd relayed the story a thousand times before. That was funny, because Rick was pretty sure Merle hadn't even told his own brother about it.

“Governor found me," he said, with a reluctant glance. "He saved my ass.”

“Is that why you stuck around? And let him...?” Rick looked to the side, unable to finish those imagined thoughts.

Merle sneered, as if he'd read them. 

"Was just favours, Friendly. No big deal."

" _I know_ ," Rick said, with more vehemence than he would have liked.

It wasn't that he was jealous, or anything strange like that. Hell...the Governor was long dead, anyway. _It didn't even matter anymore._

Not really. 

Rick glared at the ground.

"He just did what any normal person would have done, Merle. You didn't owe him anything for that."

Merle shrugged, and his lips glinted with blood when he looked at Rick again.

“No-one ever gave a shit before.”

Rick frowned at him. “I-”

The rest of his unthinking words were cut short by sudden commotion outside; something spitting violently against dirt and metal.

It wasn't exactly gunfire, but both Rick and Merle stood up at once, breath baiting between them, before it had stopped.

Merle looked at Rick. “The hell was that?”

“No idea.”

Rick braced for whatever it was, gun half cocked at the truck door, before he realised the sounds of the walkers were beginning to fade away. He glanced back at Merle, who didn't need any instruction at all.

He reached up and gripped the truck door handle, and then looked back at Rick, waiting for his signal.

Rick nodded, his finger hovering over the trigger of the gun, as the door began to shudder back up.

The walkers were gone.

In their place stood a single person; weapon-less and masked right up to his vivid blue eyes.

**

“The hell kind of person calls himself Jesus, anyway? Egotistical ass.”

The first meeting with 'Jesus' didn't go especially well, even if he did happen to have saved their lives. It didn't help that he also tried to steal the food truck, nor the fact that Merle was still quite happy to murder any new person that came into his line of vision without explanation at all. 

“He saved us, remember?” Rick said.

“He was savin' a truckload of free food. I say we whip his ass.”

“You can't solve everything with your fists, you know,” Rick considered Merle's other arm. “Or knife hands.”

"Rich comin' from you, Friendly," Merle said. "I'll be sure to remember that the next time you got me pinned up against a wall in the back of a truck.”

Rick felt heat reaching his face.

He gave Merle a sideways glance, before switching the CD player on.

“You're welcome to keep that part to yourself, you know.”

“Sure,” Merle said, and stared out the car window as if it was nothing at all.

**

**

It wasn't nothing at all, but contemplating screwing the group asshole was not very practical during the zombie apocalypse.

Also, the likes of Jesus had brought with him a whole new world of prospects and potential community that Rick needed to keep at least one eye on. Suddenly he was being flung back into the 'leader' role, since that was what everyone seemed to see him as, Merle included. 

“How's he doing?” Daryl asked, a couple of days later. 

“Huh?”

“Merle. He been behavin' on these runs with you?”

Rick cleared his throat, trying his best not to recall every single detail of the food truck incident. Because he could, pretty easily. 

“Oh yeah. Good as an angel.”

Daryl snorted, but looked pleased about it and didn't ask anything else. It was some kind of saving grace that Daryl wasn't the talkative type, perhaps.

Michonne was much more inquisitive, though.

“You two having a secret affair? You're always out together,” she was smirking when she said it, and Rick laughed and told her he'd rather be getting cosy with a walker.

Merle agreed. “Officer Friendly ain't right in the head, 'Chonne. I'd have a better time with Chambler and her girl.”

“They'd kill you first,” Michonne assured him. “Be safe, you jackass.”

Then she'd tell Rick the same, but in a quieter voice.

Rick wondered if she knew.

*

“She knows,” Merle said, and pulled another walker head up, for Rick to inspect. “Eh, what about this guy?”

"No," Rick frowned at him. “You _told_ her?”

“She got _eyes_ , Rick,” Merle tossed the head back, and then stabbed his blade into the next one, dangling it in front of Rick with more glee than was probably appropriate. “Kinda obvious, anyways.”

His smile became careful on Rick, and Rick barely even realised he was returning it. It had become automatic at this point.

_And very obvious._

“Shit,” Rick said. “I'm such an asshole, aren't I?”

"Definitely," Merle agreed. “I guess assholes attract assholes.”

He steadied the walker head, and waited as Rick pulled an arm back, before punching it square in the walker's face.

“Is that what it is?” Rick wondered. He took the head out of Merle's hand, examining the break on it's nose. “I think that's close enough.”

“Looks like you on a good day, Friendly.”

“Real funny,” Rick looked around at all the rejected heads, scattered about in the grass. Some of them were still animated, with slow-blinking eyes and gaping mouths. "I don't think Michonne knows. I don't think anyone does."

“You havin' second thoughts about all this?” Merle asked.

Rick turned back to look at him. "No. Are you?"

"Hell no."

"That's good."

Rick briefly checked their surroundings; reams of greenery and woodland surrounding them, quite alone for the time being. Then he caught Merle's wrist, pulling him much closer.

"I was kinda talkin' about the plan with the saviours..." Merle said. 

"So was I," then Rick smudged Merle's surprised grin away, with a rough kiss. 

As it had turned out, the food truck incident might have been turning into a recurring one. Rick smiled with the thought, and then through the kiss, enjoying the softer sounds that emitted from the other for a while.

Before his hands could pry elsewhere though, Merle was tilting his head away.

"...guess you was wrong, Friendly..." 

He didn't sound reluctant, but it was a warning.

Rick stepped back a bit, to see the oddly plaintive way that Merle was looking at him. Then the way he licked his lips, as if he was bracing for something terrible.

Rick was concerned.

“How's that?” 

“Dixons do fall pretty damn easy, don't we?”

But Merle didn't look so regretful about it, as Rick pulled him into another kiss.

**

**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah I promised Negan but didn't deliver....next time, next time, I promise. Just wanted to write some fluff and end on something good (?)...before the bad. Oh it will get bad. very bad. Next chapter we take a trip to Angst City, where all the Suffering happens!
> 
> Please leave a comment! IT MAKES ME SO HAPPY AND I WANT TO WRITE MORE WHEN I'M HAPPY. Or question my sanity! Or wonder about who is going to catch Rick and Merle first...will it be Glenn, Maggie, Michonne, Daryl...or some other person?? Will murdering happen? Who knows! But probably.


	4. Like The Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rick realises he can vent his sexual frustrations (and all his other zombie-apocalypse related frustrations) out on Merle. Merle takes it all like a champ, and also gets drunk again (because this is Merle). Longest part so far...sorry. I ramble forever. 
> 
> This chapter takes place through end of season 6 into season 7...and then I'm probably going off the rails.

**

The attack on the Saviour outpost went about as well as it could've gone.

Weird putting 'murder' and 'well' in the same sort of context, but Rick quelled his conscious whenever he looked over at Carl and Judith, who were both still safe.

As if it justified why he was doing _any_ of this.

It had been difficult looking at Glenn though; seeing the harder lines reaching his features. And then the way Carol and Morgan looked at him, as though _he_ was the immoral one.

They both had some nerve.

“He's got some balls,” someone from the Hilltop said under their breath, as if Rick wouldn't hear it.

“ _Hell yeah_ , he does,” Merle agreed, and Rick allowed himself a secret smile, because of course Merle didn't care about what anyone thought of him.

“They could've taken that the wrong way, you know,” Rick said later, when they were within the confines of four walls and a roof.

“Hmm?” Merle stood at the kitchen counter, inspecting the battered edges of his blade with a nonchalant face. He looked over his shoulder at Rick and smirked. “What way's that, then?”

He was pretty good at looking innocent, considering he acted the devil so often.

Rick grinned, and closed the gap to stand behind him.

“You know what way,” he curved his arms, slow and deliberate around Merle's torso, feeling the pound of his heart and noticing the careful swallow of his throat. “This way.”

“Dunno what the hell you're even talkin' about...”

Merle sounded like he was still smirking, even as Rick pushed him forward, so that he was bent and sprawled onto his stomach, completely over the counter top.

He was sliding roughly against it, legs buckling and crying out with Rick's greedy desires, only a few minutes later.

“...oh, _that_ way...” he said a few more minutes later, after he'd regained his senses again. “...thanks for the reminder, Friendly...”

He looked up at Rick through dazed eyes; panting and grinning, saliva pooling from a slackened mouth onto the counter. His head was heavy against it, in some kind of blissed-out aftermath.

Rick pressed a softer kiss to his head, then straightened up, buckling his pants in the same motion.

“You're welcome.”

It wasn't that he was being blasé about it all, but he was kind of enjoying this new outlet.

Something to relieve himself of the stress of a recent murder mission, or a petty and meaningless argument with Carl, or the constant reminder that they were in fact living amongst the walking dead.

It wasn't any sort of justification, either. But there had to be a break _somewhere_.

That break just happened to be Merle Dixon and his smart (and accommodating) ass.

“...I would've cut his balls off, if he had any to cut...”

Rick blinked at him. "What the hell are you talking about now?”

“That Hilltop ass...uhh, Greg...somethin',” Merle scowled as he peeled away from the counter, pulling his pants up with some haste. “Called me a goddamn dog last time we was there.”

“Didn't you call him a pretentious prick first?”

“Uh, small details, Friendly.”

Rick snorted. “Pretty sure you've been called much worse. Mostly by me, come to think of it.”

“Thas' different,” Merle turned his head away, and might have looked coy about it. Either that or he was thinking about something much lewder (knowing Merle, it had to be the latter). “Just let me knock the pansy ass out. And we'll call it even.”

“I'll think about it. They'll play nicer with us now, anyway. We did them a huge favour with the outpost attack.”

Merle's grin was careful.

“You mean murderin' people? Them balls of yours really do get bigger every day, Friendly.”

Rick sneered, admonishing his conscience as he pressed another kiss to a rough jawline. “Well. You would know _all_ about that, wouldn't you?”

It was enough for Merle to take the hint.

He sunk down to his knees, unzipping Rick with the sort of ease that was becoming familiar.

Rick curled fingers into hair, and a few more moments of bliss were afforded before he heard cries outside, and then a rapid rush of footsteps coming up the stairs straight towards them.

“ _Shit..._ ” Merle said.

He staggered to his feet and wiped his mouth.

Rick zipped up and turned round just in time to see the door swing open. Rosita was standing there.

“Denise is dead.”

**

**

“Dumbasses,” Merle said, glaring out the window. “Risked my ass gettin' an entire crate of soda for that rug muncher. Now she's gone n' died anyway.”

Rick sighed, pretending not to notice the waver in his voice.

“We're all upset about it, you know.”

“I'm not upset. I'm _pissed off_ ,” Merle corrected. “An' now the baby brother got the dumbass disease too. You reckon it's catchin' round here or somethin'?”

Rick shook his head. “Daryl'll come back. He always does.”

Of course he didn't know that, but he _did_ know that it seemed to be a frequent habit of the younger Dixon brother, if nothing else.

It never stopped Merle from reacting badly, though.

Rick could understand it; he knew that Merle worried in the same way that he did about Carl and Judith.

Those sorts of things never changed, even if so many other things did.

Rick guessed it wasn't really Daryl's fault. He probably didn't even realise, because Merle was terrible at demonstrating he cared about anyone, never mind his younger brother.

“Dumb shit for brains...” Merle said, driving the point home.

“He's just angry about what happened.”

“Then he needs to get the hell over it,” Merle moved away from the window, shaking his head as he began to pace the room again. It was a wonder he hadn't paced a groove through the entire kitchen. He started toward the door. “I'm gonna go find 'im-”

“ _No,_ ” Rick raised a hand to his chest, effectively halting him. “You can't go. You don't even know where he went.”

Merle's jaw clenched, an arm twitching as if he might contend it.

Then he looked uselessly to the side.

“Gov'nor never wanted me to go lookin' for Daryl too, y'know.”

Rick grimaced. “This isn't like that. You know it isn't.”

“I don't know _shit._ Only that Daryl went off on some dumb revenge mission.”

Rick stared at his profile; all tense and ready to leave, if only Rick would give the word.

And that was the sticking point, because despite everything that had already happened (and perhaps because of it, too), Rick knew that Merle wasn't going to leave. Not without a definitive order from Rick himself.

It was kind of touching.

Rick felt his shoulders sag.

“I just don't want you to disappear too,” he said. A selfish realisation. 

Merle's poise flinched. Then he looked at Rick with a bemused face.

“You're a bigger dumbass than my baby brother, you know that?”

“Yeah, probably,” Rick wasn't about to dispute it.

A little later on, they both learned that Michonne, Glenn and Rosita had already gone looking for Daryl.

It was another worry to add to the ever-growing pile, but Merle had just looked confused about it, as if someone had dropped a traumatic bombshell over his head.

Rick raised a brow at him. “What is it?”

“Why'd they go? No-one asked 'em to.”

Rick felt himself smirk.

“That's kinda what happens. You know, when you're nice to people? Sometimes people do nice things back. Amazing, isn't it?”

“ _Dumbasses,_ ” Merle reiterated. “You're all a bunch'a dumbasses...” before Rick was shutting him up with a fiercer kiss.

**

**

The world might've mostly gone to shit, but it hadn't totally shattered yet either.

There were some telling cracks after Denise died, sure. The dread of having to tell Tara what had happened whenever she returned to Alexandria, and the unspoken knowledge that the community didn't have a doctor anymore.

Then the fact that Glenn, Michonne and Rosita hadn't come back from their search for Daryl yet either.

Spidering, _sneaking_ little cracks like that.

“They're dead _,_ ” Merle decided, slicing his bayonet into another roaming walker. “They're all dead, Friendly. Face it.”

“Good to know you put so much faith in our group, Merle.”

Merle pulled a face, wiping some of the gore off his blade. “Jus' bein' real with yer.”

They'd taken a couple of days out to look for weapons and food supplies, all in between some heated hours on old couches, tables and beds that belonged to the dead now.

It was never romantic, and Rick was always very rough.

But these were still some of the easier moments, because whenever there was an opportunity to forget about everything else, it was always an easier moment.

Rick figured Merle must've felt the same way about it all, since he never protested.

And anyway, Rick had learnt that it was infinitely easier to screw someone senseless than it was to confront the latest problem. Especially when that problem happened to be that someone else had left Alexandria.

Carol had left a note, but it didn't make it any better.

Rick slackened atop hot and slick flesh, sucking in rapid gulps of air as he touched back with reality, remembering where he was and what he was (quite literally) doing.

He felt the tremble of Merle's body, laughing weakly beneath him.

“...feelin' better now, Friendly...?”

Merle was pressed hard on his stomach against the latest bed, face flushed and half-smashed to the mattress. He was beaded with sweat, his one good hand clutching tight at bed sheets, all white-knuckled.

Rick's own hand was curved around his throat, in a vice-like grip.

“...yeah,” he admitted. “Bit better.”

Merle laughed again, but it was more like a choked sound. His eyes fluttered.

Rick quickly retracted his hold, and everything else.

He rolled off Merle's back, and cast him an apologetic look.

“You okay?”

“...sure.”

Merle didn't look very bothered, as usual.

Sometimes this was useful in assuring Rick's conscience, but other times he did wonder about it. Especially when he noticed the way Merle winced as he attempted to haul himself upright, then just gave up completely and slumped back onto his stomach, looking entirely spent.

“...you gonna look for her?” he muttered, eyes heavy on Rick.

“I should.”

“... _hah._ Hypocrite.”

Rick thought about arguing it, but found himself tracing a hand down Merle's arm instead; touching the coarser edges of burnt and dead flesh.

He swirled his fingers, very carefully, around the tenderest area, and watched as Merle's gaze became drowsier.

“...she don't wanna be found, Friendly.”

“But she's still family. I need to be sure she's safe, don't I?”

“And Daryl's my _brother._ ”

Rick sighed. “I know.”

He got off the bed and walked over to the nearby dresser.

There he sat and began counting out the last of the bullets they'd been collecting, before the bed (and some suggestive glances) had managed to distract them both.

Merle groaned and rolled onto his back, blinking up at the ceiling.

“Shoulda left the outpost alone, Friendly.”

Rick was stung by the words.

He looked at Merle through the dresser mirror; a pretty arched feature that was covered in too much dust and flecks of blood.

“You think it's my fault?”

“...wasn't sayin' that. Don't get your panties in a bunch.”

But Merle's hesitation wasn't comforting.

Rick watched on in some annoyance, as Merle began to pull his pants up, reaching around the bedside table for his arm blade.

“What're you doing?”

Merle blinked at him. “Eh?”

Rick stood up.

“We ain't done here yet.”

He walked the short distance back to the bed, and pushed Merle easily back into it.

Merle didn't protest (he never did), but there was something warier behind his gaze this time.

“...what? You pissed with me now?”

“ I'm pissed with everything,” Rick admitted. It felt good to say it. 

His hands found wrists; coiling around them, and planting them firmly down into the bed.

Merle's smirk twitched. “Y'know, I weren't-”

Rick cut him off with an impatient and biting mouth, and forgot about everything else again for a while.

The bed creaked in sync with rolling hips for a good while too, along with curses and gasps that edged a very fine line between pain and pleasure.

“...aa _...slow down_...” Merle might have said at some point.

Rick just rocked faster.

He looked through the dusty mirror with some spiteful satisfaction; enjoying the sounds of stuttered moans that might have been turning into protests, and the way Merle's body arched and trembled, before it became completely boneless beneath him.

Eventually, through slowing heartbeats, Merle tilted his head to the side. He sneered at Rick through the mirror.

His laughter was shaken, perhaps with relief.

“...hah...you ever gonna treat me like a princess, Friendly?”

Rick scoffed, and pulled out of him with a brutality that made them both groan.

Merle swore and complained about unrelated things for a while after (as he tended to do), but didn't mention anything about the outpost attack again.

Rick's conscience caught up with him about it later, but he knew that Merle was the sort of person who'd take 'sorry' as a waste of time, or maybe even an insult.

When they got back to Alexandria Carl was waiting for them at the gates, Judith in his arms.

“Maggie's sick,” he said. “She needs a doctor.”

It was the icing on the top of a very shitty cake.

But these were still only cracks, implanting like a warning, for everything that was about to follow.

**

**

“How about you? Not one for kneeling?”

Rick straightened up, feeling cold as he watched Merle spit at boots.

“Ain't kneelin' for shit.”

“Oh, I _like_ that! Rednecks with spunk! Gotta love 'em.”

The idea of 'Negan' was a cruel joke in itself (considering the apocalypse had already happened), and a swaggering leather jacket with a barbed baseball bat took the piss on a few ludicrous levels, but Rick supposed it was inevitable.

In the same way the Governor had been, and Terminus, and everyone else who'd proven themselves to be another level of bastard in the new world.

Sometimes Rick wondered if he'd verged on that too, or maybe he already had, and just hadn't realised it yet.

He could play the moral card whenever it suited, and pretend like he was doing something 'good' by convincing the likes of Merle and people like him that they could be 'better'. Act the reasonable guy whenever the situation called for it.

But he'd done some shitty things too. He was _still_ doing some shitty things, and it seemed like karma had finally come back to bite him in the ass for it.

Rick could handle that. The trouble was, it'd come for all of them this time.

He watched, feeling nauseous, as Negan lowered his arm, and 'Lucille' rolled very precisely against Merle's cheek.

Then down some more, to rest on his shoulder.

Merle didn't flinch (of course he wouldn't). “Hey, screw you buddy. _And_ your bat.”

_Oh, you defiant dumbass, Merle._

Negan's grin broadened. “Oh yeah, I _do_ like that.”

Then he leaned in, close to Merle's ear, and said something that was inaudible to everyone else but him.

Merle didn't say anything, nor did his expression give anything away, but his gaze slid to the side.

Then he dropped, very slowly, to his knees.

“ _Good boy_ ,” Negan's smile stretched some more, and he removed the bat from his shoulder. He turned back to Rick with a pitiful shake of his head. “You got an interesting mix of friends here, Rick, I gotta say. And it is _not_ gonna be fun having to say goodbye to one of them. I do realise that...”

Negan's speech turned into white noise around Rick's ears again, but every time his boots and bat got close enough Rick's stomach flipped and tossed, bracing for the moment.

He still wasn't ready for it when it finally hit.

Not even after the second time.

The sun was rising and the new day was like waking into a new nightmare, before he even understood that Negan was leaving.

He prodded at Merle's back with his bat, directing him toward the rest of the Saviours.

“'Cept you. I _like_ you. You're coming with me, Spunky.”

Merle's expression was strange; looking between the puddles of gore which were once Abe and Glenn, and then Daryl's traumatised face.

His gaze settled on Rick for only a few moments, but it was enough to clutch at Rick's stomach.

At the back of his buzzing mind, he half-expected Merle to disobey. Pull something dumb and brazen out of his mouth, before sucker-punching the pearly whites out of Negan's.

“Look after my brother,” he said instead.

Then Merle and the Saviours were gone, and it looked like the world had fallen to pieces at last. 

**

The adjustment to taking orders from the Saviours was an excruciating one; everyone at loose ends, attempting to recover from losses that could not be weighed up anymore.

Maggie's obvious heartbreak, Rosita and Sasha's permanently blanked expressions, and Daryl pacing about the town like the caged animal Rick had always recognised in Merle.

Merle did come back to Alexandria, but only with the Saviours in tow.

He didn't look at Rick the entire time.

It couldn't be taken very personally; he didn't look at Daryl either, or anyone else.

His instruction was clear, and he stood straight-backed and scowling, ready to load up crates of supplies into the Saviours waiting truck whenever they directed him to.

The Alexandrians watched on with sharp scrutiny, like he couldn't be trusted anymore. Like he might be the devil again.

It kind of broke Rick's heart.

“Ain't my brother,” Daryl decided, later on. “They did somethin' to him.”

“Or maybe he found his ideal home at last,” Spencer suggested.

Daryl punched him out for that one, and Rick didn't object to it.

He did wonder about it, though.

“You don't reckon he'd really join them, do you?” apparently Daryl wondered too.

Rick felt strange, having to assure him that his own brother wouldn't do something like that. It seemed like deja-vu, but back to front.

“You know that Merle cares about you more than anything, right?”

“He would've joined them,” Daryl said, as if he hadn't heard Rick at all. “Y'know, when all this apocalyptic shit started? He would've been with them assholes from the start, no doubt. We both would've.”

“Well you're not with them. You ended up with us. _Both_ of you.”

There was something considered in the pause between them, and then Daryl looked Rick up and down with a much more careful face.

“Merle'd be long dead if it weren't for you,” he said at last.

“I didn't do anything.”

“Bullshit. You gave him a chance.”

Rick's throat caught, tightening with Daryl's words, to his own surprise.

It was infuriating in some ways. He _wanted_ Daryl to be pissed, or to lay some blame on him for everything that had happened. But instead all Daryl was doing was affirming his own suspicions; that Merle could be better than that.

_And hadn't he known it for a good while, now?_

Oh, but it was typical that Merle Dixon would make himself a terrible distraction within Rick's thoughts, whether he was around or not.

 _Bastard_.

“He'll be okay,” Michonne said, because of course she knew what Rick was thinking about.

In a better situation Rick would have laughed. Now all he could do was shake his head, and pretend he didn't know what she meant.

“I know you miss him.”

She wasn't about to drop it.

Rick squinted ahead of them both; there were a few walkers dotted about on the yellowing field, ambling around like morbid decoration.

“I miss everyone,” Rick said, diplomatically. “Glenn, Abe...”

“But Merle isn't _dead_ ,” Michonne said, like an exasperated reminder. “You don't need to pretend, you know.”

Rick stared at her, and her smile was thin, but still there.

There was no point in confirming or denying anything. He could tell, just looking into her eyes.

He shook his head at the ground. “I just need to do _something_.”

“I know,” Michonne said. She sounded like she'd made an important decision for the both of them.

Then she pulled a scrap of paper out her pocket and pushed it into his hand.

**

**

Rick knew that the trip to the Sanctuary was on the same reckless level as the elder Dixon's way of thinking. He wondered if he'd been hanging around him too much.

Or maybe he'd just become that desperate to know that he was okay.

He'd only taken Michonne, and left a frustrated Carl in Alexandria to look after Judith. Daryl didn't even know about it.

Rick would deal with _that_ consequence later.

The note that Michonne had given him was very simple; some scratchy handwriting that offered a specific time and place, and an afterthought that made Rick's stomach clench.

_'Come soon. he won't last much longer'._

It was all signed by a guy calling himself 'Dwight'.

“He's the one who killed Denise,” Michonne had informed him. “Blonde hair, burnt face.”

“Could be a trap,” Rick said, staring at the last sentence for what was probably the thousandth time that morning.

Michonne shrugged. “Could be.”

It made very little difference now; they were already there.

They parked up a good distance from the Sanctuary, hidden by forestry. Rick looked upon the building with the sort of dread that hadn't reached him in a long time.

It wasn't like it was overrun with guards or guns or anything like that. In fact for the moment it was quite deserted (true to Dwight's sketchy word, Rick supposed), save for the walkers that lined the fences like decaying guards.

It was only the thought of what they might find inside that made Rick nauseous.

“He might already be dead. Maybe that's the trap.”

Michonne looked at him with a weary face.

“I don't think Merle would appreciate your loser attitude right now.”

Her attempt at a smile left a lot to be desired, but Rick appreciated it anyway.

They found Dwight waiting for them on the edges of the Sanctuary.

Rick immediately held a gun to his head, and Michonne's katana blade hung bare inches from his eyes.

“Where is he?” Rick said.

Dwight jerked his head in the direction of an open doorway, along the side of the building.

“Second room in,” he paused. “You got a window of five minutes. Then you're on your own.”

“Why are you helping us?” Michonne asked the glaring question, her gaze matching it.

Dwight shrugged. “I'm not doing this for you. That redneck is someone else's responsibility. And it'll be their problem to deal with when he's gone.”

Rick exchanged a glance with Michonne.

It made sense; the Saviours didn't seem like a particularly honourable lot. If anyone had anyone else's back, it was probably just to watch it get stabbed by somebody else.

“Four minutes,” Dwight said. “I'd move your asses if you want to see your redneck friend again. Alive, anyway.”

Rick gritted his teeth.

Another nod at Michonne, and then he backed up, gun trained on Dwight until he was through the doorway and engulfed in blackness for a few seconds.

As his eyes adjusted, the outline of a dank and filthy corridor came into view. To the side were a row of closed doors. Rick made a beeline for the second.

It was much darker in there, but a small window allowed light to bathe the floor, close enough to see the shape of a figure sitting in the furthest corner of the room.

Merle looked like he might already be dead, or already a walker. It was hard to tell.

Rick quickly knelt down to him, trying not to think about that.

“Hey, asshole,” he said instead, and nudged him in the chest. It felt warm. “Time to wake up.”

Merle stirred slowly; the tension in his arms visibly pinching them as he straightened up.

Then he was suddenly snarling; in a fast but very disorientated attack.

“ _I ain't kneelin'-_ ”

His right arm lunged for Rick's face on automatic instinct. It was fairly useless without the bayonet, though.

Rick managed to catch it. “Hey, it's just _me._ ”

Another snarl, before Merle's gaze seemed to focus.

His shoulders sagged, in some kind of relief.

“...Friendly...the hell you doin' here?”

“I'm glad to see you too,” Rick curved a hand around the back of his head, and startled at the blood that was sticking against his own fingers.

In the same moment Merle groaned and tilted forwards, almost falling into him.

“...oh _shit_...didn't mean t' do that.”

He straightened up again with Rick's help, sneer as tremulous as his gaze. 

“...hahah. Never thought I'd be so happy to see a damn cop...”

“ _Ex_ -cop,” Rick reminded him. As if it was important anymore. He pressed his hand to Merle's chest, to keep him steady. “It's okay. Just take a minute.”

Merle cursed, but looked more annoyed with himself than with Rick.

“...nah, m' good,” he spat out a streak of blood, and then pushed at the ground, trying to haul himself up with his better hand.

His arm trembled with the exertion, and Rick grabbed it before he could do anything any much dumber.

“Here, let me help you-”

“I _got_ it...”

“ _Merle..._ ”

“Get the hell off me, Friendly _..._ ”

“ _Like hell I will._ ”

In his own frustration, Rick thought that he wanted to punch him.

Instead he grabbed Merle's jaw, and caught his mouth with his own.

It was much less a kiss than it was an angry clash of teeth against teeth and a couple of spurning, muffled words around them. Rick couldn't help it, though.

"... _damn it_ , _Merle,_ " he hissed, tasting too much blood on his mouth. 

Then there was a throat clearing, somewhere behind them.

“We have to get out of here.”

Rick looked around. Michonne wasn't in sight, but he could see her shadow, drawn across the doorway.

“...huh. Does this mean we're all good now?” Merle muttered.

His head hung, like he might be teetering on the unconscious again. 

Rick tilted his chin up.

“Just let me help, you stubborn asshole.”

*

The three of them staggered away from the Sanctuary like a trio returning from an intense bender. Except with extra blood and gore to accessorise themselves with.

“Just like hauling your drunk ass home,” Michonne said, as if she was reminiscing about something much more wonderful than that.

“Wish I were pissed up,” Merle lamented, and tried to shove their arms away for the dozenth time.

Between them, they somehow managed to get him to the car. He complained and swore the entire time, even as he was leaving bloodied marks all over the back seat.

The drive back to Alexandria was speedy and full of cautious relief.

“...so Dwight kept to his word,” Rick said, in Michonne's direction. “We got lucky.”

“And Merle isn't dead. An added bonus, I guess.”

“... _haha_..” Merle sounded strained. He was stretched out on his back, apparently having a hard time staying very conscious at all. “...m' good. Those shitheads ain't got nothin' on me...I'm gonna rip their sorry-ass balls off...”

“Shut up,” Michonne glared through the rear view mirror at him. “You can rip peoples balls off later. And I'll be more than happy to help you.”

Merle snorted, but didn't say anything else. Rick watched as his good hand flopped over the edge of the car seat, and then his eyes fluttered as he passed out.

Through unforgiving bars of sunlight that dashed into the car window, Rick could see him much better. All the stark and brilliant red blood, the nasty bruising around his arms, and those that extended onto a much gaunter face.

“He's in bad shape. Whatever they did to him...”

“He'll be okay,” Michonne said, with unwarranted assurance. Then she looked at Rick with something closer to a smile. “He's got you looking after his sorry ass, right?”

Rick bowed his head. The desire to protest wasn't as strong as he'd expected it to be.

That was strange.

So instead he just settled for returning her vague smile, and they left it at that.

**

Rick had expected Merle to be fairly resistant to someone 'looking after his sorry ass', but it was still frustrating when it happened that way.

“You need to go to the Hilltop. You'll be safer there. And they've got a proper doctor.”

“Like hell I do. I need somethin' strong in my gut an' a decent pot to piss in. Then I'm all good.”

Rick started to protest, but Michonne stopped him.

“Let him be,” she said, as if she knew better. She probably did. “He'll come round.”

So Rick attempted to be satisfied with that.

It wasn't as if he'd expected Merle to say much about whatever had happened at the Sanctuary. The problem was that they hadn't spoken to each other about anything _at all_ , because Merle had taken to shacking up at Daryl's house (the garage, to be exact) and avoiding Rick and everybody else besides. 

It was like a hard reset, to whenever it was that Rick had thought Merle was a simple-minded piece of shit and nothing else.

That all seemed like a lifetime ago now, though. 

“How is he?” Rick asked Daryl, a few times.

Daryl always answered the same way; a shrug and an 'I don't know, ask Merle'.

Rick suspected that there wasn't any cover up there, and that Merle was just avoiding speaking to Daryl as well as everybody else. It was a concern in itself, but Rick found himself getting concerned about other things, too.

Like whether or not he'd taste Merle's mouth on his own again, and watch his body bend, so pliable to his own greedy hands. Or share the same lazy and post-coital space; with Rick admiring a dumb ass grin that suggested Merle had loved every second of it...

_Those sorts of things._

“I've seen him sneaking out,” Michonne said, one day. “I think he's clearing walkers, but I don't know.”

Rick looked at her with a despairing face. “I need to try and talk some sense into him.”

“Hah. Isn't talking sense into Merle Dixon the project of a lifetime?”

“I'm beginning to think it might be.”

It wasn't going to be a deterrent, though.

**

**

Rick found him alone in Daryl's garage, swilling the dregs of a whiskey bottle around in his good hand. A reasonable substitute for a painkiller, Rick supposed.

There were old auto-mobile tools scattered about the floor, and Merle moved to pick up his bayonet when he saw Rick approaching.

“It's okay,” Rick said. He hesitated, and stepped properly into the garage. “No walkers to clear out tonight.”

Merle's eyes narrowed, and he didn't sit back down.

There was a slight sway to his stance, indicating he was already pretty drunk.

“What you doin' here then, Friendly? Come to help me fix up a bike?”

“I'm not much good with bikes,” Rick confessed.

“Thas' a shame. You coulda been my extra hand or somethin'...” Merle took another swig from his bottle, and Rick watched liquid drool messily down his chin. “...y'know. I was pretty good with bikes...before all this shit happened. I could even ride em,” he started to laugh, but it sounded embittered. “Man. Those were some good times...”

Rick cleared his throat.

“I just wanted to make sure you're okay. Hardly seen you since we brought you back.”

Merle shrugged. “M' good,” he seemed to consider, and his smile was sardonic. “Yep. _Pretty_ good.”

He started to walk past Rick, but was blocked by the hand on his chest.

“Can't you talk to me? For just a minute?”

“We are talkin', ain't we? What's this, if it ain't talkin'?”

“You know what I mean,” Rick took the opportunity, and grasped Merle's wrist properly.

Merle flinched for just a second. Then, without any warning at all, he was swinging the whiskey bottle up at Rick's head.

Rick ducked, and the bottle hit the garage wall with a shattering sound. He ducked Merle's fist too, and barely avoided the next.

Merle was obviously a good brawler, even when he was pretty drunk. But this evening he was more than pretty drunk. And he was still in pretty bad shape too.

After a few more grapples, Rick felt arms slackening back, in reluctant and panting defeat.

“...shit... _get off me_ , Friendly...”

Rick pushed him to the wall. “I just want to _talk_ , you lunatic.”

He felt the shake of a chest, moving up to barely touch his own, as Merle sighed.

“...don't wanna talk,” he said petulantly. Then he tipped his head, as if he'd had a better idea.

He offered Rick a vague (and intoxicated) smile.

“Hey. Can't you just screw my brains out for a while instead?”

The request was crude and typical, and Merle was already licking his lips and leaning drunkenly in, as if Rick would so easily relent and catch him in a kiss.

And, annoyingly, it _was_ that easy.

“No brains there to screw,” Rick said anyway, before he closed the gap between them.

Merle's mouth tasted of too much liquor; all mingling into a lethal concoction of scraping teeth and tongues. A really messy kiss, drawing out all those whines and moans that Rick had never thought he'd hear again.

He grasped at legs, hitching them up with a grunt, and enjoyed the muffled hum of surprise that left Merle as he slid up against the wall.

“...I missed you,” Rick murmured, through another rougher kiss.

A careless confession, more to himself than to Merle.

“...whatever...” Merle didn't seem to care (or perhaps hear?), anyway. He moaned again, and it was dirty and elicit. “...just fuck me good n' hard...”

The prickle of impatience in his voice made Rick grin, much more than the request itself.

He caught Merle's jaw in his hand. “Guessin' you missed me too, then?”

Merle's smirk was faint. “...missed yer big dick, Friendly...”

His eyes were hooded, and his good hand clutched at Rick's back. The mutilated arm hung back against the wall, as if he didn't trust himself to use it for anything very intimate.

It never bothered Rick, though.

“Hah. I think I can tell.”

Merle rolled his eyes. “You gonna fuck me, or wha...”

The rest of the words left him with a gasp, as Rick's hand wandered beneath dirty clothes, finding pulsing skin.

It was then that he also found the trails of embossed scars; running along stomach and back, like a messy map beneath his fingertips.

It wasn't that he didn't know about them before.

He had, and he also knew that each mark told a story similar to the _countless_ domestic call-outs he'd received in his old life as a cop. 

Merle was never going to tell him about them, and that was fine. Rick didn't want to know.

The trouble was there were _new_ scars there now. And they weren't anything to do with the elder Dixon's damaged upbringing.

These were another part of Rick's karma; the part that had come back to bite everyone else in the ass. And they tapered all the way up, transforming into dark bruises that reached for that very familiar, shit-eating smirk.

“...what's up?” Merle slurred around it. He blinked slowly, the intoxication rife and glittering in his eyes. “...c'mon, Friendly...I'm horny as hell, here...”

Rick took a sharper breath.

His fingers twitched on Merle's jaw, and then fell away.

Merle's face furrowed in annoyance.

“...the _hell?_ Yer a _damn tease_ , Friendly...”

“I'm sorry," Rick said.

“...what?”

"I'm _sorry._ For whatever they did to you."

Merle's frown wavered, into something else.

"...weren't nothin'..."

He trailed off, as Rick moved a hand, slowly, across his cheekbone.

Then he tilted his head, just enough.

He kissed Merle more gently than he ever had, and was undaunted by the initial lack of reciprocation. Then he felt a hand clutching briefly but urgently at his shirt, and a murmured sound that was earnest between their mouths, before Merle was melting into it. 

It wasn't anything like the heated and violent crushes that usually bit between them, but somehow this was much more intense. 

Merle's face was sobering up before they'd even broken apart. He stared at Rick as if he'd done something that was beyond a violation.

Oh, but it _must_ have been, if it rendered Merle Dixon completely speechless.

His mouth quivered, along with the rest of him.

Rick was genuinely concerned.

“You okay?”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Merle sounded insistent, but his sneer was unsteady. “...the hell was that sappy shit for, anyway?”

Rick laughed, mostly in relief.

“I dunno. Thought you wanted me to treat you like a princess, sometime.”

Merle made a sound like a hitched scoff, but not really.

Rick knew it, because he felt something hot and damp bleed onto his shoulder, as Merle quickly bowed his head into it.

“.. _.shit_ ,” he said, voice muffled by fabric. And then a harsher sound. “...I'm not a damn pussy, y'know...”

Rick pressed a hand to his head, curving him closer.

“You really gotta stop confusing 'pussy' with 'normal person'.”

Merle's laughter was short and dulled. He didn't lift his head at all.

“...eh. Screw that.”

They stood in silence for a few moments, and Rick moved his arms into a cautious embrace. Only because he knew Merle wasn't going to tolerate it for much longer.

Still, he felt the tension dissipating underneath his hands.

“I got a plan, you know,” he didn't wait for a response. “I hope you're all on board for some serious Negan ass-kicking.”

"...yeah?"

"Yeah."

Merle tilted his head, mouth stretching a grin when he looked at Rick again.

“...glad t' know you got your damn balls back, Friendly.”

Rick noticed his eyes were glittering.

“I'm glad too.”

He realised he was far more relieved to have gotten Merle back, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm unable to resist the sap...this ship continues to attack me in the feels somehow. I hope you guys aren't too disappointed in Negan's lack of role. I'm sure he'll appear again (um, probably...). 
> 
> So next time we get Rick's 'plan', and much more fluff and angst besides, most likely.  
> Please, pleeeease leave comments if you can...they fuel me. Thank you for the reviews so far! I appreciate them so much!!


	5. This Was Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter a military base is explored, as well as too much fluff and feelings between some dumb lads. More implied smut, but nothing graphic.

88

88

Merle had always been pretty good at surprising Rick (both the good and bad sorts of surprises), but now he seemed far better at being a predictable sort of bastard.

Rick wasn't sure which one he preferred anymore.

“No way I'm goin' back there, unless you want Gregory prick-face dead within the week,” there was a hopeful spike in his voice when he looked at Rick.

Rick resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He passed another bag of supplies over to him and noticed his grimace when he lifted it.

“If you won't stay at the Hilltop at least see the doctor. Just to be sure you're not bleeding to death internally, or somethin' horrific like that.”

“Nah. Woulda' keeled over by now, Friendly.”

“You already have. A couple of times,” Rick reconsidered the bag, then pulled it out of Merle's grip. “Just get your sorry ass back to the truck, would ya?”

“I can carry shit. I'm not a cripple.”

“No. You got a screw loose. Now _get_. I'll be with you in a minute.”

Merle shrugged and left with a sullen face. Something that Rick was becoming all too familiar with in recent days.

The looting routine had also become familiar, with Rick scouting the fronts of houses and then taking the upstairs (to clear out whatever walkers might be left) whilst Merle dealt with the back and whatever lurked downstairs and in the basements.

They'd meet in the middle, or sometimes in the bedroom or living room, where time usually afforded them some relief.

It had been different since Negan, though.

It wasn't that Rick didn't _want_ to. Far from it; he was angry and frustrated, and Merle had somehow become the ideal outlet for that.

But it'd only been a few weeks, and Rick still couldn't look at bruised skin without the inconsiderate stab of his conscience.

Merle always looked confused rather than rejected, as if he wasn't sure what he'd done wrong this time.

Today they didn't even meet in the middle. Perhaps Merle had given up the chase at last.

Rick liked to pretend he wasn't disappointed.

“...Merle?”

He wandered into the living room, finding him stretched out and snoozing on the couch; a crumpled can of booze on the coffee table next to him, cigarette still burning in his hand.

Well, at least he hadn't keeled over this time.

Rick took the cigarette with a sigh, and thought about waking him up.

Instead he leaned against the back of the couch and just watched him for a little while.

It was an odd sort of relief, observing the unencumbered way he slept; brow no longer so severely furrowed, the line of his mouth even softer than a smile.

He looked as if there was nothing wrong in the world for once, and Rick was _envious._

He envied how easily Merle could carry on. How he could wander so brazenly about Alexandria as if the Saviours were never going to roll up and find him again. How easily he could badmouth them, and yet still never tell the tiniest detail of what exactly had happened there. What had happened to _him_.

And how easily he could apparently forget it all _._

It would have been an admirable attitude, if it wasn't so damn stupid.

“Dumbass,” Rick muttered. He moved his hand closer to Merle's, wanting to touch it.

In that moment Merle shifted and opened his eyes.

He smiled lazily up at Rick.

“...hey, Friendly. Was jus' takin' forty winks...”

“Or a hundred,” Rick reached over, dusting some of the dirt out his hair. “Where's it hurt this time? Ribs again?”

“Nowhere,” Merle frowned, swatting a hand away. He propped himself up on his elbows, wincing with the effort. “...never felt better.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I'm good. Will be when we find some decent meds round here, anyway.”

Rick pursed his lips, but decided he wasn't going to fight him on it this time.

“You ready?”

“Guess so. Unless you ain't?”

Rick watched the swallow of his throat, as he downed the rest of the beer can with a tip of his head.

“You shouldn't be drinking on these runs. Or _at all,_ ideally.”

Merle wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His smile was sardonic.

“Yeah? Wanna teach me a lesson about it?”

Ah, so he _hadn't_ given up the chase, after all. Rick was kind of glad.

“...there isn't time for that,” he said anyway. An excuse that had become overused and feeble in recent days.

Merle's sigh told as much.

“...ah, _c'mon_ , Friendly.”

He might not have begged, but the edge of desperation in his voice was close enough. Certainly enough for Rick.

He edged slowly around the couch and then leaned the rest of the way down.

He was tentative and careful about where he placed his weight; limbs and flesh touching for the first time since that messy instance in Daryl's garage.

 _Shit_ , but there were still far too many bruises.

As if Merle cared; Rick could already feel the impatient burn of his skin, as a hand moved around his back.

And yeah, it _was_ only a few weeks ago, but as Rick pressed for a greedy kiss, it suddenly felt like an entire torturous lifetime ago.

“Thas' better,” Merle's grin was touched with some kind of relief, as if he shared the same ridiculous sentiment.

Rick's own mouth flickered, wanting to mirror it.

He leaned into another much rougher kiss before it could happen, though.

There was a fervency between them for just a few seconds, only because Rick figured he could forget about those bruises and scars if he concentrated on other things.

Like every terrible act they'd ever committed between each other in the new world. Every kill, every remorseless remark that suggested they both deserved whatever nasty surprises they had coming to them.

Perhaps it would be easier that way...

Then the front door clipped open, and Rick came back to his senses with it.

“Are you two ready...?” Michonne was standing there. Her eyes rolled fractionally at the couch. “You know the herd is still approaching, right?”

She dumped her rucksack on the kitchen counter, checking the contents with a calculative face.

“...heh, jus' havin' a little fun, Samurai,” Merle said, flushed gaze on Rick.

Rick could feel the harsh pound of his chest, and he shuffled the rest of the way off him, to the edge of the couch.

He looked sheepishly to the side.

“..we were just coming.”

“We was?” Merle laughed. “Speak for yerself-”

“ _Shut up.”_

“Please do,” Michonne said. “And zip your damn pants up, Rick.”

Merle's grin extended, but Rick was dragging him off the couch and pushing him out the house, long before he had the opportunity to make any more tasteless remarks.

Michonne hung back, looking at Rick with an exasperated face.

“Is he going to Hilltop or what?”

“Like trying to make a rock bleed,” Rick glanced past her, imagining Merle's frown even as his back was turned. “He's just stubborn, that's all.”

“That's the polite word for it.”

Rick didn't bother disagreeing. It was a well-worn conversation between the two of them at this point.

“Don't worry. I'll figure out a way to convince him.”

“You looked like you were in the perfect position to be doing that a few minutes ago.”

Rick tried to hide another mortified look. It must have failed, since Michonne was still smirking at him.

“Well. Good luck with that,” she said.

She headed to the other car, where Aaron and Rosita were waiting.

Rick hesitated, shading his eyes against the setting sun before returning to his truck.

Merle was already inside, gaze sullen and turned to the passenger window. He was watching the approaching walker herd as if it was the source of all their current problems.

Rick dropped the last bag in the back seat with a heavier sigh.

“I'm not askin' much, you know.”

Merle's gaze didn't alter. He clearly didn't need Rick's elaboration.

“'M not goin' to the damn Hilltop. Told you I'm _all good_ ,” he tipped his head, that reluctant way again, in Rick's direction. “'Sides, I ain't leavin' Daryl,” he paused. “Or anyone else.”

Rick smiled thinly. He couldn't help it.

He reached out a hand, to rest on Merle's arm. He barely squeezed it, but it was enough to make Merle's mouth part a fraction.

It was kind of funny; he always seemed much more scandalised by a gentler touch.

“One visit to the docs. That all I'm askin', Dixon.”

Merle huffed.

“...damn it, Friendly. If you'll get off my ass about it.”

“And here I was thinkin' that's all you ever wanted.”

“ _Hah_ ,” Merle's frown fell away. “You'd better have me seein' stars after all this bullshit.”

**

**

Luckily (or perhaps unluckily for Merle), Hilltop had recently and unofficially been dethroned and taken over by Maggie.

Gregory still hovered about in the background, passive-aggressive comments flitting at anyone who bothered to listen, but he wasn't being taken very seriously anymore.

“That bitch-ass still around?” Merle took him less seriously than anyone else, perhaps.

Maggie nodded. “He's around.”

“Jus' lemme know whenever you want someone to kick his ass out. More than happy to do it.”

Maggie's expression verged on the appreciative. “Good to know. I guess.”

She'd always looked at Merle with a great deal of suspicion (who could blame her?), but these days it was coupled with much more curiosity. Sometimes even teetering on the amiable. It was as if she was considering a strange new creature that was standing in front of her, uncertain if it was dangerous or not.

“What happened to you?” she was staring at his collar bone, still very dark with bruising.

Merle snorted. “Ain't nothin'.”

Rick told her otherwise, but in scant detail, about Merle's imprisonment at the Sanctuary. Merle just hung back, looking decidedly annoyed about the conversation.

Eventually Maggie looked at him again, called him a dumbass, and then directed them both to the Hilltop medical facility.

“Two rib fractures, a bruised liver, amongst other various internal bruising,” the doctor hesitated, eyes flickering to the side, but never elaborating on it. “And a great deal of flesh wounds. But he should be okay with some strong painkillers and plenty of rest.”

“ _Rest_?” Rick scoffed. “Good luck with that.”

True to the sentiment, Merle hadn't waited around long enough for the rest of the diagnosis.

Instead he slouched outside the Hilltop entry with a listless air, waiting for Rick as if he was the one with the doctors appointment.

Rick returned to him with a scowl.

“You might have stuck around long enough to take the meds, at the very least.”

Merle just grinned as if he wasn't being chided for his own stupidity.

“Hey, I got a idea.”

“...what?” Rick said warily, because Merle and ideas never seemed like a very sensible combination.

“I've been thinkin' about some ex-military base, back south ways. I 'member goin' there with the Gov'nor, but we never stuck around long enough. Not before some herd caught up with us and we had to leave.”

“What's this got to do with anything?”

“Figure if we find some firearms we could use em against the Saviours,” Merle shrugged. “An' I'm pretty sure those assholes don't reach out that far, right?”

Rick wanted to nod and agree. Admit it was actually a decent enough plan. But all he could really think about in that moment were hidden bruises that shouldn't be there at all.

And the way the doctor had looked at Merle.

Rick clenched his jaw. He took Merle's wrist, pulling him much closer than he really needed to.

“You're such a dumb bastard, aren't you?”

He pushed a bottle of painkillers in Merle's hand.

“Hey, screw you,” Merle said, but his smile stretched a bit more.

88

88

88

“ _Holy shit...!_ ”

Rick heard Merle's exclamation before the blast of gunfire hailed all around them.

Then there were sharp pangs stabbing at his ankle, and he was hitting the dirt and burning his arms on the spray of gravel.

He rolled over and fumbled for his handgun, before realising he'd lost it a few minutes before.

“ _Dammit.._.” he turned his head in time to see more bullets, scattering across the grass verge and taking out the front-most walkers. A small mercy.

“...bitch of a situation, ain't it...” Merle said. He was panting and slinging his gun back over his shoulder.

He held his hand out.

“C'mon, Friendly. Get your ass up. We gotta go.”

Rick attempted to, but his ankle protested again, and he almost fell backwards into the dirt.

Merle caught his elbow, and his grin was tempered by the wide look in his eyes when he looked behind them.

“Am I gonna have to carry your ass or what?”

He didn't wait for a reply, and looped an arm around Rick's shoulder, half-dragging him the rest of the way up.

They staggered a short distance, before Merle was shoving Rick ahead and training his gun on the walker herd again. He picked a few off (with some inappropriately gleeful whooping sounds), before Rick grabbed his shoulder.

“There's too many for that. We need to _move_. Find some cover.”

Merle had the audacity to pout at him, even amidst all the chaos.

“Party pooper,” he said, but followed after Rick.

They reached cover in the form of a smaller building, set just beyond another grass verge. Merle booted the entrance open and pushed Rick through it, before slamming the door shut behind them.

He slumped back against it, catching his breath through a heavy curse.

“...that coulda gone way better...”

“Definitely,” Rick agreed.

It'd all been going a little too well, he supposed.

An ex-military base had sounded promising, especially with the way Merle had talked about it; all gung-ho and listing off weapons in some detail, that might serve vital purpose against the Saviours.

It'd even _looked_ promising from a distance, but the walkers had taken them all by surprise.

At least they'd managed to escape bites. A small silver lining for the moment.

“Oh, _damn_ ,” Merle whistled, and Rick followed his gaze around the darkened room. “Home, sweet home.”

Tellingly, they were within the army base's sleeping quarters; all lined up with single beds, each matching a basic bedside cabinet, and rucksacks that were hanging off hooks on the walls.

The walls themselves were covered in scrawls of random graffiti and the windows were all blacked out for some reason. There was a bundle of sheets piled up in the far corner of the room and the smell of death all around them. But that wasn't anything new anymore.

Rick limped the rest of the way to the nearest bed. He began pulling his boot off with a grimace.

Merle lingered at the door.

“Can still hear em comin'. Damn walkers everywhere...” he glanced back at Rick, brow rapidly furrowing. “...uh, you okay?”

Rick wanted to laugh. “Never better.”

He didn't mean to sound so embittered, and he regretted it at once when Merle's expression dropped.

“Think I just sprained my ankle. We can wait out the herd. They'll pass if we keep quiet.”

“...okay,” Merle nodded, but didn't look particularly happy about it.

He pushed away from the door and then seemed to waver there for a moment, before walking over to Rick. He dropped his gun on the floor.

“Yer need any help with that?” he stared at Rick's unbuckled boot, like awkwardness personified. Then he knelt down to it anyway, before Rick could say anything.

Merle pulled the boot off with his one good hand, and it was considered and careful, as if he was practising a very delicate operation.

Rick wanted to smile, but flinched instead.

“Sorry,” Merle muttered, and he looked it. “Lookin' pretty swollen there, Friendly.”

“It'll be okay,” Rick rested the foot on the ground, testing the weight with another grimace.

“Dummy. Jus' stay put. Should be somethin' we can fix you up with round here...”

Merle began snooping around the sleeping quarters as if he knew it from an old life; tearing away bedsheets, feeling around the undersides of mattresses and cabinet drawers, and pulling rucksacks down and emptying the contents of them all out.

At some point he was down on his knees as though he'd found something valuable on the floor. Then he flung a dirty magazine in Rick's direction, reminding him that he shouldn't get so excited about whatever Merle thought was impressive.

“Nice to see you still have all your priorities straight, Merle.”

Merle shrugged.

“Thought you could use it, since you don't wanna screw me no more,” he said, as if it was nothing at all.

Rick stared at his back. “What?”

Merle tossed another magazine. “Hey, looks like this guy had a whole collection.”

He stood up, apparently distracted by the bundle of sheets in the corner of the room.

He prodded at them with the toe of his boot.

“What is it?” Rick asked warily.

Then he noticed the plush toy, lying very close to the bundle.

Merle had already knelt down to it. He lifted the covers up only a fraction, before dropping them again with an unreadable face.

“This weren't home to soldiers,” he said. “Not in the end.”

Rick looked away, stomach twisting with imagined thoughts of whatever Merle had seen.

“Anyways, I found these.”

Merle dropped a bottle of painkillers in Rick's lap.

Rick nodded in short appreciation, and attempted to press the weight on his foot again. It was still quite painful, but not intolerable. At a push he'd be able to limp out of there if they needed to.

“Put it on the bed,” Merle said. “Y'know. To alleviate the pain...or somethin'.”

His expression was creased with concern, and his good hand dithered, as if he was going to lift the foot up for himself. In the end he just turned on his boot heel, and walked back over to the door.

He gave it a sharp and unexpected kick.

Rick recoiled with the bang.

“...what's wrong?”

It was a redundant question, because of course there was always something wrong in the undead apocalypse.

Merle pulled a face. “ _Nothin_...just thought this place was gonna be the jackpot, is all.”

He paced around, hand balling a tighter fist. Then his bladed arm flashed through the air, before it was impaling the closest wall and accompanying a growling exhalation.

“Ain't _jack shit_ here, though.”

Rick watched the lines of Merle's shoulders moving in much quicker breaths, and in that single snapshot of a moment it was easy to see why anyone might call him dangerous.

But Rick knew better than that, and he could also imagine a tormented face, without actually having to see it.

“It's not your fault, Merle.”

Merle's back straightened a bit with the words, but he didn't turn around. He pulled his blade out the wall, and bits of plaster sprinkled onto the floor.

“You gonna try those pills?”

“Pains not so bad anymore. Just need some ice, I reckon.”

“Right. They're probably out of date anyway.”

There was a dense silence, though it wasn't awkward.

Within it, Rick heard the fainter sounds of walkers still lurking outside the facility. They'd be there for a while before moving on. Merle's kick to the door hadn't helped the situation, either.

“Sit down,” Rick said, patting the bed.

Merle turned round with an uncertain expression, and Rick noticed his fingers curling up and down against his palm, as he slowly approached.

He sat, but left a significant enough gap between them.

Rick pretended not to notice.

“So. You were military, right?” he asked, only because he could tell that Merle couldn't handle the silence.

Merle scowled at his boots.

“Not 'fer very long. Uh, somethin' about not playin' nicely with others,” he seemed to consider it. “Oh yeah, and that one time I punched a Sargent's teeth out. They was askin' for that, though.”

“ _Obviously._ ”

“Don't believe me?”

Rick shook his head. “I believe anything that involves you punching someone else's teeth out.”

Merle turned his grin to the ground. It faded a bit, as if he was realising something far more significant than that.

“Hah. I screwed that up too,” he said. “Funny. How that keeps happenin'.”

There was nothing edging obvious emotion in his voice, but it didn't matter.

Rick could see it so clearly written on his face. He'd gotten used to it now, in the same way he'd gotten used to every other look Merle gave him, intended or not.

“You didn't screw up today. You were trying to help. That's all I can ask of anyone right now.”

Merle's sneer looked practised, and he stared at his bladed arm as if it was more fascinating.

“Ain't no good at helpin' people, Friendly.”

“Bullshit. You're always helping me.”

“...how's that?”

Rick felt himself sigh, infinitely touched by Merle's obliviousness.

_Hopeless idiot._

“Like _this_.”

And if only to demonstrate the point (or maybe it was more of an excuse), Rick leaned in, pressing an insistent kiss to his mouth.

They broke apart quickly, and Merle looked at him with a scowl that was trying to turn into a smile.

“...you sure this is the best time, Friendly?”

Rick scoffed. “Since when did you care about that shit?”

It wasn't really a question at all, and Merle seemed to know it.

“Fair point...”

His surprise merged into laughter, as Rick pushed him the rest of the way down onto the bed.

He began tugging impatiently at clothing, because Merle was right and it really _wasn't_ the best time, but Rick really couldn't help himself anymore either. Frustrations were winning out, apparently.

As he shifted, his ankle flared up, but it was only a distant ache now. In the same way the walkers outside were becoming irrelevant background noise again, and the weight of too many body counts had slipped away from his shoulders for a short while.

Even the threat of Negan was turning into a fading nightmare.

Then, as his mouth moved across prickling flesh, he noticed the nasty gash struck all across Merle's shoulder.

Rick's throat tightened a bit, and he remembered everything else all at once.

“...Merle, you're _bleeding_.”

Merle's shrug was slight.

“...jus' a lil scratch, Friendly...ain't nothin'...”

“...you're so full of bullshit.”

Merle laughed again, a leg curving slowly round Rick's back. “Why don't yer screw it all out of me, then?”

His better hand was already bracing Rick's shoulder, like he was baiting him to take up the challenge.

But then their eyes locked, and there was a doubtful pause between them.

Merle huffed, and then tilted his head to the side.

“Yer don't hafta look at me...if that makes it better...”

“....what?” Rick said.

“Ain't nothin' pretty to look at, right...”

Rick's heart temporarily sunk with the words. He stared at Merle in some disbelief.

“The hell are you talking about? It's nothing like _that._ ”

He placed a kiss on Merle's throat, drawing out a surprised sound with it.

The flesh there was much warmer than usual, or perhaps it'd always been that way, and he'd just forgotten about it for a little while.

Christ, he had missed it, though.

“I just don't wanna _hurt_ you, you dumbass.”

Rick didn't allow the admittance to settle for very long, nor did he bother to gather Merle's reaction, before he was sliding his hand rapidly into the unbuckled gap between fabric and flesh.

He felt more than heard a shaken gasp, pressing against his shoulder. Then an involuntary roll of hips, curving up beneath him.

Merle looked at him with a dizzied face.

“...hah. Ain't nothin' can hurt me...”

“Good to know,” Rick said, because now really wasn't the time to be disputing ridiculous and impossible claims like that.

He kept moving his hand instead, with a slow and purposeful intent. He spoke softly, close to Merle's ear;

“Does that feel good?”

Merle barely nodded. His face was already flushing.

“...y-yeah...”

“ _Good_ ,” Rick's mouth moved over slicker skin, finding purplish bruises with it. “...and I still want to screw you, by the way. In case that weren't so damn obvious.”

“Oh...”

Rick smirked as flesh bucked up properly to meet his touch. His other hand quickly found Merle's, clamping it firmly to the bed.

Dirtied fingers locked between each other in a grip that Rick had never noticed before, in the same way he'd never normally notice Merle's other arm; jerking out to grasp at something, as if he'd forgotten there wasn't a hand there anymore.

“ _Easy_...” Rick soothed, because it _was_ easy. He'd forgotten that.

Damn Negan, ruining his fun for a little while there.

Merle's laugh slipped into a moan.

“...missed you too, Friendly...”

It was odd, like a response to a conversation they'd had weeks ago.

Then Rick realised it actually was, and that Merle was probably only just coming to terms with the idea of missing someone like _that_ at all.

_Poor bastard._

Rick kissed him again and _again_ , and for a while he found himself considering every bruise and every scar his mouth wandered over. Wondering distantly about how it'd happened, how new it might have been, whose fault it actually _was._..

He heard his own voice too; murmuring adamant and unprepared apologies against hotter skin. As if that was ever going to change anything for the better.

But there was a shuddered response anyway;

“... _this_ _was home_...”

“...what?” Rick followed Merle's faltering gaze, toward the ceiling.

There was a line of graffiti written there, just above their heads;

' _This Was Home.'_

“... _hah_...think I get it now...” Merle said. His eyes were glistening, for some reason. “...this is...”

Rick felt fingers biting at his own, before slipping away with an uneven sound.

“.. _.dammit_...”

“...it's okay,” Rick said.

It was a promise he thought he could keep for once, but only because Merle was turning his head into his chest, panting breath settling so much softer there, as if- _oh shit –_ he really did _trust Rick Grimes._

And Rick was never going to get used to that.

“ _It's_ _okay,_ ” he repeated.

Flesh rutted urgently beneath him for a few seconds, and then a stifled cry as Rick pressed another kiss to a slackening mouth.

As they broke apart he relished the scraps of breath still rushing against him for a few moments, and the pound of a chest trembling into gradual sync against his own.

Then Merle tossed his head to the side, face all flushed and disorientated.

“...ah, shit, man...”

Rick grinned at him, fingers curving the line of his jaw. “...you alright?”

“.. _.shit_...”

It was then that he realised Merle wasn't appreciating anything to do with his wandering hands or mouth anymore. He was looking at something else, with a very specific sort of mortification.

Rick followed his gaze to the half open doorway, bare meters away from them both.

Daryl was standing there, still as a statue. His face was completely unreadable, and not just because of the dimness of the room.

Merle smiled weakly.

“...uh. Hey, baby brother.”

88

The trip back to Alexandria was pretty uneventful, considering everything.

Michonne picked the three of them up, and the pain in Rick's ankle returned in the same way everything else did.

The edges of an aching reality creeping back, reminding him of baseball bats, bloodied heads and the constant thrum of fear that seemed to package itself with everyone he cared about.

Daryl didn't say a word, and Merle didn't look at him the entire duration of the journey.

He talked (because Merle couldn't do much of anything without talking) about things that didn't matter; like the gore on his boots and blade, or the close call Rick had with a couple of walkers. Just running his mouth off to fill a space that was too awkward for any of them to deal with.

“Are we going to keep doing this?” Michonne eventually asked.

“Doing what?” Rick was afraid of the answer.

“Looting for things that don't exist anymore? What if the Saviours find out about this expedition?”

“Screw them,” said Merle.

Michonne levelled him a glare. “Not everything can be fixed with that, you know.”

Rick avoided another awkward glance. “We just need to travel further afield. And find others who are willing to fight.”

“Are you trying to build up an army?” Michonne looked sceptical. “Is that your grand plan?”

“We got the Hilltop, remember.”

“ _If_ they're willing to fight for us.”

“Bo-Peep will,” Merle said. “She got a bullet with Negan's name on it.”

“She's also pregnant, in case you hadn't noticed.”

“Ain't no hardship fer a gal who just lost her man.”

Michonne rolled her eyes, gaze sliding back to Rick. “How's your ankle?”

“It's okay. Just needs some ice.”

And then they were back in Alexandria.

They were greeted at the gates by Tara, who looked far too pale.

“Negan was here,” she said.

Rick turned his head, an instinctual glance in Merle's direction that couldn't be helped. He wasn't sure why he'd figured Merle was an appropriate source of support in that moment.

But Merle was looking at him too, and despite everything, he didn't look afraid.

Oh yeah. That was why.

88

88

Spencer and Olivia's bodies were buried just a few hours later.

Rick couldn't blame Rosita and her bullet, in the same way he couldn't blame Carl and his own reckless plan. They all _wanted_ to get rid of Negan. Difference was, they'd actually acted on it.

Rick was more surprised that other people hadn't done the same.

Even when he looked upon a gutted out armoury, he couldn't bring himself to blame anyone but himself.

_He should have been there._

The rest of Alexandria seemed to exist under a heavy cloud of depression, and Rick found himself wanting to count bullets that weren't there anymore, and talk to people who only existed in memories now.

Oh, but there were too many of those.

But at least Carl and Judith were safe.

Carl was already slipping off with Edith, as if his encounter with Negan was just the beginning, or maybe even a day-in-the-life sort of thing, that wasn't anything out of the ordinary anymore.

Rick had thought about lecturing him. But lecturing was for homework that hadn't been done yet, or being caught smoking or drinking when you weren't old enough. What was the general rule of discipline when it came to trying to murder another murderer in the zombie apocalypse, again?

Rick wasn't about to write that handbook.

“I should have been here,” he told Michonne.

Michonne didn't dispute it, but she still looked sorry.

“We thought we were onto something good with that military base,” she said. “It can't be helped.”

It wasn't really a comfort, just a threadbare excuse. Something to validate a wasted journey, and then the realisation that it'd only made things much worse in the end.

Merle had already sloped off, as if he knew exactly where the blame lay.

That worried Rick even more.

“Where are you going now?” he pretended not to be so concerned, when he found him packing up supplies in a car, as if he was on another foolhardy mission. “You're not going after Negan too-”

“You think I'm that stupid?” Merle glared at him. He slammed the car boot shut. “Ain't doin' nothin' like that. Jus' takin' a little trip, is all. Won't be very long.”

Rick wanted to believe him.

“Alright. Just be careful.”

Merle snorted.

“Ain't I always?” then he looked Rick and up and down, with an unusually thoughtful face. He took a short step back. “You still reckon I didn't screw up today, then?”

His smirk was as sarcastic as his tone.

Rick wanted to grasp at his shoulders and shake some common sense into him (it was always direly needed), but Merle was already turning away and getting into the car.

“Negan's still looking for you,” Rick called after. Some last ditch attempt to keep him on his tight leash. “You don't go looking for him, you hear me?”

Merle waved an arm out the window, as if he was waving away Rick's words.

“Don't wait up for me, darlin'.”

88

88

“You two scarred Daryl for life, or so I hear,” Michonne said.

The incident in the military base seemed very trivial now; a lifetime ago, never mind a couple of hours. But Rick averted his eyes anyway.

“Is Daryl about?” he asked.

Michonne nodded outside the gates.

“Might be off on one of those Dixon revenge missions, though.”

Rick found him just outside Alexandria, picking off stray walkers with his crossbow.

He'd hardly looked at Rick since returning from the military base, and Rick wondered if he might decide to shoot a bolt at his skull instead.

He approached slowly, but Daryl seemed to know it was him without even a turn of his head.

“Hey,” he muttered, shooting another bolt off. It flitted through nearby forest, catching a stray walker in the shoulder. It turned and began ambling slowly toward them. “Shit.”

Rick stared at his back, only because it was easier.

The absurdity of the situation hit him in the gut.

Here they were, surrounded by the actual _undead_ , constantly teetering the line between life and death, and suddenly the most difficult conversation in the world was about who was screwing who.

Some things, even post-apocalyptic things, never changed.

“Merle tell you where he was goin'?” Daryl said.

Rick shook his head. Pointless, because Daryl still wasn't looking at him.

“No. Just said he wasn't going after Negan. He say anything to you?”

Daryl turned round, mouth twitching slightly.

“Nah. Figured he woulda told you, though.”

“Daryl, I didn't mean-”

“I already knew, you know."

Daryl raised his crossbow again, precise and stilled, upon his shoulder-shot walker.

Rick followed his eyeline. “...knew...?”

“You n' Merle,” Daryl altered his aim, squinting a bit. “Damn thing won't quit movin'.”

“You did?” Rick was mildly incredulous, despite himself. Some childish part of him revved and ready to deny all of it. “How did you-”

“Heard you two at it like 'coons a few times,” Daryl's mouth curled, and he offered Rick a sideways glance. “Merle ain't exactly quiet.”

Rick felt the heat reach his cheeks, recalling every sound he'd ever pulled from the elder Dixon in a few short seconds. And then he wondered, in a detached kind of panic, about who else might already have known, or had even _heard..._

“...oh,” he said at last.

Daryl's mouth curved up a bit more, like he'd read his mind.

“Don't worry. No-one else was around.”

As if that was supposed to make Rick feel better. He smiled thinly.

“That's...good?”

Daryl didn't answer. He steadied his aim, then released another bolt. It flew through the air at speed, and hit the ambling walker clean through the head.

He trekked after it, and Rick followed at a careful distance.

“You're...you're okay about it all, then?”

“I don't give a shit,” Daryl said, without pause.

He stopped at the body of the walker, scowling, before kneeling to pull the bolt out it's head.

“Does the kid know?”

“....what?” Rick stared at him, then shook his head more hastily than he'd intended as he began to realise. “Carl doesn't need to know about it. This...you know this isn't a _relationship_.”

Daryl cocked his head. He looked warily interested. “No?”

“ _No_. It's not Lori...or Jessie, even.”

Rick trailed off, because the realisation left a bad taste in his mouth for whatever reason.

Daryl didn't seem surprised about it, though.

“Figured as much,” he pulled the bolt out of the walker in one swift motion, dark red blood pouring with it. “Merle's pretty shit at relationships, anyway.”

Rick wanted to contend it, but he wasn't sure why. Defending Merle to his own brother seemed very pointless, especially when Daryl would always know him much better.

“I'm sorry you saw-”

Daryl waved the words away. He wiped the excess gore across his jeans, and studied the tip of the bolt for a second.

“Look. Anythin' that makes Merle happy is alright by me, right? Not to mention a goddamn miracle.”

The note of appreciation was clear in his voice, and it accompanied the tug at the corners of his mouth, as if he wanted to smile. He didn't quite manage it though.

He gave Rick an appraising look.

“Ain't as if I couldn't tell, anyway. Just by the way he damn well _looks_ at yer.”

Then he turned around and walked off, as if it was that simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter was a bit of a stop-gap of fluff, perhaps. It gave me some problems, not gonna lie. That's my best/lame excuse for the delay. I hope it was interesting in some way, though. Next chapter will include more action and the like :)  
> Please do leave a review and/or suggestions if you can spare the time! Without those it just feels like I'm speaking into the void, and that's saddening.


	6. Just Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter we get a dinner date, zombie apocalypse style.

**

**

“Told'ya not to wait up for me, dummy.”

“Couldn't sleep. And my ankle's still hurtin' like a bitch.”

It wasn't true, but Rick would be damned if he worried about that asshole enough to go looking for him in the dead of a post-apocalyptic night.

_Damned if he ever would._

And still it had been a significant relief to find the car parked just outside Alexandria, with the unmistakeable figure of Merle slouched against the hood. There was smoke curling from a cigarette, hung in his single hand.

He straightened up just a bit as Rick approached.

“Should be restin' that ankle, Friendly.”

“Never mind that. Where have you been?”

Merle rolled his eyes.

“The kid alright?” he asked.

Rick laughed, but it was incredulous.

“Of course not. Nearly went n' got himself killed,” his voice faded with the words.

It was different saying it aloud. The realisations that ran through his mind, reminding him of what could have happened.

“He'll be alright. He's a tough kid,” Merle said, as if he was stating a simple fact rather than offering any kind of consolation. “Pretty dumbass plan. But he got guts, give him that.”

“Yeah. Anyone would think he'd been hanging around with you too long.”

Merle's smirk disappeared. He dropped his cigarette on the floor, stomping it amongst the dried weeds.

“Can yer do me a favour n pass this on?” he inclined his head to a crate of boxes, stacked up in the back of the car.

“What is it?”

“Some soda shit for Chambler. Ain't seen much of her since her girl died.”

“Oh,” Rick swallowed a warmer feeling in his throat. He smiled weakly. “She'd be happier knowing you gave it her, you know.”

Merle shrugged.

“Yeah, well. I'd be happier knowin' she didn't know.”

There was nothing coy about the way he said it. In fact his mouth curled into a frown, and his glance in Rick's direction looked more like a threat.

Funny how it made Rick want to smile more though.

“You wanna go for a drive?”

Merle blinked. “...uh, right now?”

“Why not? We're already outside. It's the middle of the night. No-one knows or cares.”

Such flippancy came much easier now, Rick realised.

Sometimes he wondered if Merle had rubbed off on him too much, but whenever he caught his own careworn reflection in a mirror, or shining against a knife edge, he realised he'd changed all by himself, and it wasn't anything to do with Merle at all.

Merle nodded, and it was warier, as he opened the drivers side door.

“No, I'll drive,” Rick said, and then grasped Merle's right arm.

He raised it just a bit and studied the end, where it was covered by that crude and dirtied canister.

“It must be difficult to drive now.”

Even though it was dark, Rick could see Merle's expression dropping, into some sort of humiliation. He took a step back.

“I ain't a cripple, you know.”

“I know,” Rick said. "I'm sorry."

He was, but he didn't let go of Merle's arm.

“Daryl already knew, by the way,” he blurted, unable to stop himself. “About us.”

Merle seemed to flinch, then his mouth moved into an uncomfortable line, matching the long pause between them.

“Yeah, well. He won't say nothin'. Baby brother ain't much for talkin', you likely noticed.”

Their gazes locked in some needlessly defiant stare. Usually Rick would take the initiative and move into a kiss that would lead into something else, much more instinctual. Something that reminded him of how useful Merle could be; an outlet that didn't suffer consequences, or at least didn't complain about them.

But tonight and every night since the Saviours had been different. And now Merle looked _upset_.

It was strange to think about, but perhaps Merle was the one that had changed, and only because of Rick.

Rick let go of his arm.

“C'mon. I want to take you somewhere.”

**

**

“The hell is this?”

Merle tilted his head, looking up at the restaurant like it might have been a walker danger zone. Then he looked at Rick with an even more suspicious face.

“You finally lost your mind, Friendly?”

“Maybe,” Rick glanced into the back seat. “You say you picked some food up, too?”

“Uh, just some canned stuff.”

“Right,” and Rick began gathering some of it up.

They'd been driving for a while; about an hour of drawn out silence along a stretch of black road. It'd felt bleak, and it was. Merle was usually good at car conversation, even if it was often some cleverly dressed up topic of bullshit.

He hadn't said a word the entire journey this time though, and now he was still staring at Rick as if he'd lost his mind.

“We goin' to a _restaurant_?”

“Yep.”

Rick actually knew the place fairly well.

It was one of the more well-known upmarket ones, the sort people travelled to for important business meetings. Or to show off a huge wage packet and all that other shit that didn't matter anymore.

Rick had been there once with the likes of Shane and the rest of his work force. He'd also taken Lori when she'd first announced her pregnancy with Carl.

“This the fuckin' Ritz or somethin'?” the edge of awe in Merle's voice was amusing. He slowly got out the car, still eyeing the building as if it might bite.

“Not too shabby, right?”

Rick slung a jangling backpack over his shoulder, scanning the area with an automatic caution that came with doing a thousand runs. He clasped a hand to the gun on his belt, before giving a quick nod in Merle's direction.

Another automatic order that Merle recognised at once. He moved toward the restaurant with more caution than usual though.

“Yeah, ain't bad lookin'. Even by this shitshow standards.”

Merle whistled as they entered the foyer, staring wide eyed at high arced ceilings and the large untarnished paintings that adorned the walls. Streaks of dry and bloody footsteps marked an otherwise beautifully marbled floor, and there was a single skeletal corpse hanging over the reception desk.

Merle rang the desk bell with a grin. “Hey, how 'bout some service, darlin'?”

Rick grabbed his elbow. “Quiet, dumbass.”

They walked through into the main sitting area, where tables and chairs were still neatly in place, all decorated with menus and precisely placed cutlery. There were wine glasses and bottles gathering dust at a nearby cocktail bar, as well as some choice liqueurs.

It was a room unmarked and frozen in time, not exactly a rarity in this new world, but sometimes it still caught Rick by surprise.

Just another scrap of the old world to swirl up some more empty nostalgia.

“Looks just how I remember,” he thought aloud.

“Oh yeah, I remember this,” Merle said, full of sarcasm.

He slouched back against another table and pulled a cigarette out his pocket, ready to light up.

“What're we doin' here anyways, Friendly? Havin' a fancy ass dinner date or somethin'?”

His sarcasm didn't falter. Rick smirked at him.

“That's exactly what we're doing,” he picked up a couple of liqueur bottles, and passed one over to Merle.

Merle stared at it blankly.

“You takin' the piss? Or did you _really_ lose your mind?”

Rick gestured to a small table in the corner of the room. “Just shut the hell up and take a seat, would you?”

Merle looked between the expensive liqueur and the table as if he'd been asked a trick question.

“Ain't exactly dressed for the occasion, Friendly.”

“Does it matter? You look perfect, so sit your ass down, would you?”

“I look like shit,” Merle corrected, but did as he was told.

Rick sat opposite, unceremoniously emptying his backpack out on the table. A jumble of canned soups of varying quality rolled out before them, most of which Rick wouldn't have chosen in a past life.

He sighed, and then noticed Merle was smirking at him.

“Fancy ass dinner date? You sure 'bout that, Friendly?”

“You're gonna have to excuse the limited menu this evening. Some end of the world type shit really messed up the food delivery.”

“That's fair, but we're still screwed. We ain't even got a can opener.”

“We got that,” Rick said, and looked pointedly at Merle's bladed arm.

Merle snorted.

“You're always usin' me for somethin', ain't you?”

He didn't sound annoyed about it, as he stretched his arm out across the table. His smirk remained in place as he punctured a hole in a couple of cans.

“Thanks. You got a match?” Rick asked.

“Uh. Sure,” and Merle dug into his back pocket, before offering Rick the entire box.

Rick considered, and ignored Merle's incredulous face as he lit up a couple of the table candles.

“That's better. I can see you now.”

Merle raised a brow. “That's _better_?”

“Always better seeing your dumb face.”

The warmth of the candlelight made the table glow, as well as Merle's 'dumb' face. If Rick didn't know him better, he would have suspected a blush there.

Merle cleared his throat, and his smirk moved into a smile when he looked at Rick again.

“That's some sappy ass shit, Friendly.”

“I pretty much don't give a damn,” Rick said, and rested his hand across Merle's arm.

He smoothed his palm across the flat side of the blade, and then up and over the ridges of the cannister. The buckles that held it all together were worn and tattered, and Rick easily began to unfasten them.

Merle blinked in confusion, but didn't protest.

He only grimaced when Rick pulled the cannister away entirely, and stared at whatever remained of a stumped arm. It still looked nasty, even after all this time.

Merle glanced up at the ceiling, as if detached from the observation.

“Heh. Bet yer wishin' we was still in the dark now.”

Rick shook his head.

“Not at all.”

He paused, hovering the tips of his fingers over gnarled and purplish flesh, before pressing gently down upon it.

He felt the flinch of skin, and glanced up to see that Merle was watching him with a warier face.

“Does it still hurt?” Rick asked.

“Ain't so bad,” Merle's voice diminished, into a muttered sound. “...just always feels weird, havin' someone else touch it...”

“Do you mind-”

“Don't mind you touchin' it,” Merle interrupted quickly. “...that ain't no trouble at all.”

“Right,” Rick took a swallowed breath, curving his fingers properly around it for a few seconds. “I am sorry. About this, I mean.”

“That was forever ago, Rick.”

“I know.”

But it didn't always seem that long ago, just like the old world didn't either.

And if Rick squinted around the restaurant, he could almost imagine it lit up again; could hear the chatter of menial conversations all around him, all the discussion that added up to nothing in the grand scheme of what was to come.

As if anyone could have known.

“Oh, man. Look at this shit.”

Rick blinked out of his thoughts and back at Merle. “What?”

Merle was staring at an open menu, his face set in mild disgust. “Woulda had to sell half a kidney for a starter at this place.”

“...half?”

“ _At least,_ ” Merle flipped the menu over, eyes narrowing. “Sav...ignon...blank...?”

Rick hid a smile behind his hand. “Sauvignon Blanc.”

“Yeah, that. Man, I _hate_ wine.”

“I know. Lucky we picked up the liqueur then, isn't it?”

He poured them both a glass of the golden brown stuff, and they both took long swigs that acted as a gap filler to an awkward silence. It wasn't the sort that suggested either of them wanted to be anywhere else, though.

Contrarily, and as his throat began to burn with the taste of whiskey and the refills that came soon after, Rick thought he could have stayed there and like this forever.

Moving into a gradual and warming drunken stupor, just watching Merle descend into the same state. Watching the way his throat pulsed with drink, and then how his smirk quivered with an uncertainty that nobody else probably noticed. How his eyes occasionally slid around the restaurant with reluctant curiosity.

“Y'know, don't reckon I ever done a dinner date before.”

Rick wasn't so surprised about that, but it still made his chest pang for some reason.

“Well. I don't normally do other guys,” he said, unthinking. “But here we are.”

Merle spluttered around another drink.

“...guess the end of the world broadened our horizons,” he grumbled. “Or somethin'.”

“Or somethin',” Rick nodded shortly. “So. D'you like it?”

“Well. I was expectin' better table service. An' better food. An' it's kinda dead,” Merle looked at Rick then, and his grin was careful. “But the company's alright, I s'pose.

“Yeah. A nice escape from the shitshow that is reality.”

Rick clasped his drink tighter, knuckles whitening as he was reminded of that shitshow in graphic detail.

He picked up the glass. Another rush of golden liquid down his throat was a temporary distraction.

“Ain't your fault, y'know,” Merle said.

The words were deceptively vague, even more so coming out of a slightly slurred mouth, but Rick knew exactly what Merle meant.

“What?” he played ignorance anyway.

“Glenn ain't you fault. Or Ginger nuts. Or Hershel. Or anyone else. So quit beatin' yourself up about it. It's annoyin' as shit.”

Rick forced a smile. “Good to know you still got my back, Merle.”

Merle frowned.

“Y' don't believe it, do ya? You'd do anything, even fuck me stupid, before you believe it.”

Rick felt his face flush.

“It's not that simple,” he swallowed a nauseous feeling. “Someone has to be... _accountable_. I'm supposed to be leading you guys. Lookin' out for everyone. Every time someone dies...every time Negan gets a win...I've failed you.”

The pause between them might have been intended, but Rick didn't want to know Merle's reaction.

“Nah,” Merle's voice was much quieter. “That ain't how it is, Friendly.”

Rick glanced up, guessing Merle wasn't about to offer up any sort of consolation, at least not in the conventional way.

Instead he just reached across the table and picked up whatever was left of the whiskey bottle. He downed the rest in one go, and roughly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“So, you wanna fuck me stupid instead then? Might feel better.”

His cocksure sneer was highlighted by fast burning candlelight, and he budged around the table to get closer to Rick.

Rick scoffed. “You really got a way with words, don't you?”

“I know, pretty charmin', right?”

“Dumbass.”

They both laughed, and it felt like a relief.

Merle was already sliding down and onto his knees, an uncoordinated hand pawing at Rick's belt buckle, before Rick realised what he was intending.

“...hey, stop. S _top_.”

“What's up?” Merle blinked at him in vague irritation, then grinned.“I mean, besides your tasty cock-”

He started to laugh, before Rick caught his chin, stilling him at once.

“I just want to kiss you, you dumbass. So come here.”

“That's it?”

"That's it."

"...alright."

Merle looked confused but still obliging, as Rick pulled him up and into a proper kiss.

It was softer and slower than perhaps either of them had expected.

Merle's mouth arched into a surprised sort of smile as they broke apart, and Rick looked at it with regretful memories of how often he'd abused it.

How _rough_ he'd been, how unthinking and so focused on his own distractions and desires.

“I'm sorry.”

Merle rolled his eyes. “For what? I already told ya, I'm over the damn hand thing, alright?”

There was an obliviousness there which only made Rick sorrier. After all, it was easy to take advantage of someone when they were totally unaware of it.

Or perhaps Merle was just so used to it at this point.

“No, I don't mean that.”

Rick kissed the side of his jaw, and pushed him back.

Cutlery, cans and glasses were knocked spectacularly off the table as their bodies moved upon it, all creating echoed noises that would have been a concern only a few minutes ago.

As it was, Rick was more concerned with the heat of skin against his hands, and the way another hand clutched at a dusted table clothe.

Merle's skin felt rough and dirty with grime and blood, but that didn't matter at all.

“I mean I care about you,” Rick said.

Merle grumbled.

“Dummy,” he said, and then turned his head to kiss Rick's neck.

His kisses were always much softer than Rick's, and more careful too, as if he was considering that Rick didn't actually like it.

Rick clutched the back of his head, fingers curving into short curls of hair as he spoke, close to his ear;

“No, I _mean_ it, you bastard. _”_

Merle laughed against Rick's neck, and it sounded like disbelief.

“...them candles are gonna light us up...”

“What?”

Rick followed a drunken gaze.

He took only a couple of thoughtless seconds to snuff out the flame that was already dancing across the table.

It burned his hand, but it didn't hurt at all. His skin was already on fire, and maybe it wouldn't have been a bad way to go.

“We could just fuck off,” he murmured, around another kiss.

Another thoughtless and easy idea.

And then Merle pressed his hand to Rick's chest, keeping him at bay for once.

“Hah. You're pretty crazy when you're drunk, Friendly...”

 _Shit._ But it was always going to be a bad sign when _Merle Dixon_ was the one suggesting someone might be crazy.

Rick wiped his mouth, bowing his head in a moment of frustration.

Only because he'd actually _meant_ it. In a few reckless seconds; he'd meant it and he'd _wanted_ to do it.

And it would have been easy to cut ties with everyone _,_ to relieve himself of the responsibilities that he didn't want anymore. Those that he'd never asked for in the first place...

“Anyways, you'd be killin' me in less than a week,” Merle said, as if that settled it. “...give it three days, max.”

Rick tilted his head back, observing Merle's unsteady grin with another realisation.

“Well, guess I couldn't risk you dyin'. Couldn't do that.”

Merle scoffed, but sounded relieved.

“You'd miss your handy can opener, right?”

“Something like that.”

Rick was already leaning into another kiss before another sound was creeping into his ears.

He looked up in time to see the shadows of walkers ambling slowly into the room.

“ _Shit_ ,” Merle said, full of disappointment. “Jus' my luck, walkers interruptin' my first classy date.”

“Classy?” Rick combed a hand through his hair and spared Merle a grim look as they separated. He sidestepped the canned food that was still rolling about on the floor and reached down for his gun. “Hate to imagine what your other dates were like.”

Merle shook his head, but he was grinning like a child.

“Not so good. Reckon this is the best one yet.”

He picked up a couple of cans and backed up behind the cocktail bar.

There, he began chucking them at walker heads, along with a fair amount of pricey looking wine and champagne bottles.

Rick's hand was still hovering over his gun, before he realised there wasn't much need for it anymore.

He leaned back against the wall and lit up, watching the spectacle in front of him in amusement.

Merle having his own version of fun was a welcomed form of entertainment, and perhaps there was something cathartic about it, watching so much expense shatter and pool out onto the dead like that.

An unapologetic reminder of how redundant so many things were these days.

Soon the pretty marbled floor was soaked in alcohol and glittering glass, along with whatever was left of the walkers that had to dared interrupt them.

Merle sloped over to Rick with a pleased grin and glistening brow. He wiped it, and Rick noticed the blood splatter creeping across his panting chest.

“So...where was we?” Merle leaned an arm against the bar, in what might have been an exhausted attempt at a seductive gesture. “...somethin' about you an' me...on a table, weren't it?”

Rick grabbed him by the collar and kissed him through a hungrier smile.

The whiskey tasted more expensive than he remembered, and that only made it sweeter.

“I think I remember where we left off.”

*

*

“...shit, that's funny.”

“What's that?”

“...you really did get me seein' stars for a minute there, didn't you?”

“Now _that's_ some sappy shit, Dixon.”

The restaurant's arched windows were casting early dawn across the bar, making the aftermath of the walker attack seem much harsher and bloodier. It was also an annoying reminder that they couldn't stay there forever.

“Five more minutes,” Merle said, like he'd read Rick's mind. His better arm clutched at Rick's elbow, trying to keep him in place.

“You said that five minutes ago. Stop puttin' us on snooze.”

“Urgh,” Merle pouted, and rested his head on the bar again. “'m tired.”

“Hungover,” Rick corrected, and slung an arm around him, pulling him much closer to his chest.

Merle yawned and tucked his head under Rick's chin, as if it had always belonged there.

The warmth was addictive in those post-coital moments, and perhaps the alcohol played a part in that, but Rick was happy to take advantage.

Besides, Merle's mouth felt so soft pressed on his neck, and they only had five more minutes...

“Did ya mean that?” Merle sounded lazy, his mouth moving across flesh in the same way. “What you said before...?”

Rick felt himself smile. "'course I care, dumbass.”

“Not that...” a pause. “Well, maybe that, too...but I mean that other dumb shit. The stuff about you runnin' away.”

"...oh."

Rick curled his fingers tighter around the back of Merle's jacket, bundling it into an anxious fist.

“Sometimes I think about it. I think about how they'd all have done better without me. I mean...look where I've got them. Look what happened _._..”

He felt the warmth leave his neck for a few seconds, and then an exhalation that was more like a sigh, as Merle lifted his head up to look at him.

His gaze was still tired, but he was frowning too.

“You won't leave,” he said, as if it were obvious. “That's somethin' a dead beat dad would pull. Or some shitty older brother,” he turned away. “An' you ain't like that. Ain't no way.”

Rick baulked at him.

“You really think I'm still the good guy? After everything I've done?”

Merle shrugged. “Ain't for me to say. Don't really matter what I think, anyways.”

“Of course it does.”

“Nah,” Merle shifted back, and the gap between them became large enough for Rick to see the red marks of his own fingers, indented into Merle's arms.

He was always too rough, he realised, even when he actually cared.

“So you wanna head back?” Merle asked, as he picked up his hand blade. “Others are gonna think we eloped or somethin'.”

“We got a few more minutes till sunrise.”

“Now who's puttin' us on snooze?”

“You must be a bad influence,” Rick grasped his shoulder. “Here, let me do it,”

He gestured to the blade canister Merle was still idly fiddling with.

“You care what I think of you?” Merle sounded intrigued, as he held his arm out. “You was actually serious about that?”

“When do I ever joke about anythin'? You know my sense of humour is shot at this point.”

“Ain't true. You're always laughin' at me.”

“Yeah, exactly. It's well beyond repair,” Rick finished fastening the buckling, before taking a second to carefully rotate the canister. “That good?”

Merle was still watching him.

He smiled faintly.

“That's perfect.”

*

Reluctantly, they left the restaurant.

The sky was already pinkish orange with the rising sun, attractively bathing small parts of the town that remained unscathed by walkers.

An untouched jewellery store that was still shining diamonds in a window display, or an old record shop that looked tempting with the idea that it might still be able to play a tune or two...

“I remember that place,” Merle said.

Rick followed his gaze to the police station, just a few yards from them both.

"You've been here _before_?" he couldn't hide his surprise.

Merle's grin stretched.

"Been in too many state police stations. This was one of the better ones. Around the time I went to juvie, I reckon," he began walking across the road. “Yeah. The old man pickin' me up right out the station there. Seein' his face, enough to make you piss your pants.”

He rolled his eyes to the sky, as if he might have been reminiscing about something much grander. 

Rick grimaced. “What were you in for?”

“Usual dumb shit. Probably shop liftin' or property damage. Or arson... or assaultin' a pig..”

They crossed the road, and Merle tapped his blade against the enforced glass of the station window.

It was dark inside, but Rick could see the nearest cell through the dusted glass.

“Pigs talkin' shit all day an' night in these places,” Merle said. Then he glanced back at Rick, somewhat sheepishly. “Guessin' you know all about that, though.”

“Yeah, I know about it.”

They stood parallel to each other for a moment, before Rick caught Merle's good hand in his own.

Their fingers curled together slowly, and Merle looked uncertain. His profile was still set upon the police station, as if he couldn't quite shake it.

“This is funny,” he said.

“What is?”

“This,” Merle's hand tightened a bit in Rick's. “Us...just standin' here...just us,” he wiped an arm over his dirtied brow. “I dunno how the hell all this happened...”

“Probably best not to think about it.”

“Yeah. An' I'm good at not thinkin'.”

Rick scoffed. “Sometimes, maybe.”

He pressed a palm to Merle's chest and only had to nudge him a little way back, until he was rested against the station wall.

Merle's smile was easy and oddly shy at the same time. He raised an arm, shading his eyes against the sun as he looked at Rick.

“You wanna arrest me here, Friendly? Seems kinda appropriate, don't it?”

“No,” Rick shook his head, and kissed him instead.

He felt the arc of Merle's smile, before he was smudging it away completely.

Sometimes it really was best not to think, Rick realised. He was hot again with everything besides the fast rising sun, and time didn't matter at all anymore, if he could just have a few more of these moments...

He might have done, if not for the deafening sound that rang through his ears barely a second later, and then the odd sensation that seared through his flesh within that second.

His limbs were suddenly heavy, and his hands grappled at whatever was in front of him.

Merle was obviously in front of him, still half-pinned to the wall, and his skin seemed to be paling by the second.

But was it seconds? Time was juddering, and in the next second (was it?), Rick could feel the earth, all the dirt, under his hands. Warm, but not any sort of comfort.

The sear in his flesh was beginning to burn.

He looked down, and absently noticed the blood spreading out onto the floor.

_“....Rick...oh fuck...”_

Oh yeah, and Merle was still there, and he was talking.

Rick looked groggily back up.

Merle still looked too pale, and something else, even stranger...

“Shit...hold on..just hold onto me...”

An arm was looping around his own, and Rick leaned heavily into Merle's hold, because there wasn't much else he could do. It was assuring for a while, because Merle was warm and his scent was as familiar as waking up in the morning.

“...that's it...good job...” and Merle's voice was cracked, but still familiar too. “No...dammit, Rick...”

There was no mistaking it, and Rick craned his head, to try and hear it better. For some reason it kept fuzzing and fading out, like static.

Another ringing sound interrupted it all, and Rick felt the ground again, along with the weight of Merle pressed briefly across him.

There was heated breath close to his ear, and then a bladed arm crossing over his chest, completely still for a few seconds.

“Shit...” Merle said. He looked back at Rick with that strange expression again. “...Rick, you okay?”

Rick wanted to respond, but his mouth felt clogged with something.

He tried to nod his head, but Merle was already nodding back at him.

"...alright. We gotta...gotta get the hell outta here.."

The ground was dragging at their feet, before they reached the car.

Rick hit the back seat and stared up at the dusted ceiling with a creeping realisation.

His fingers were twitching sporadically upon his stomach, and through some thick haze he managed to blink down.

The blood was seeping through his fingers, and another hand was covering them.

It was a shaking hold which Rick vaguely registered as some kind of reassurance.

“..s'okay...” Merle's voice was cracking again. “...gonna get you to a doc...so stay the fuck still, okay...”

Rick blinked, trying to gather Merle's face.

The corners of his vision were already greying, but he found him.

“...stay with me, dummy...”

Merle was still talking. He never knew when to shut up, so it made sense.

His smile was brittle though, and his brow creased as he leaned down.

Their foreheads pressed together for the tiniest moment, but it was enough for Rick to see the flash in faded blue eyes.

Merle baulked, and it sounded like a sob.

“...you can't fuckin' die...that-that ain't fair...”

 _Oh._ So that was why it was so strange.

Merle looked terrified.

Rick wanted to laugh as his vision fell away, because he'd never seen him look like that before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes the bulk of this chapter was fluff. But to be honest that's what I want to write in these shit times and I can't apologise for that... I also haven't gone back to reread previous chapters so I will apologise for repeated dialogues if that happens.  
> I'd be surprised if anyone is still reading! Hit me a comment if you are, its much appreciated. Might be more motivated to update sooner.


	7. Bad News (I don't care, I like you)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rick recovers, and Merle…not so much.  
> Implied smutty times ahead, as usual!

Before he came to his senses, drifting in and out of some semblance of consciousness, Rick thought he was already dead.

Would have been a no-brainer, but there was another voice, somewhere within the backdrop of his fuzzed thoughts.

_...you ain't gonna die, you ain't gonna die..._

Repeated over and over, like a disparate mantra. It should have been irritating, but Rick found himself clinging onto it.

When he properly awoke, he was still pretty sure he was dead.

“He lives,' said Carol, just to confirm it.

And for a little while she was like a ghost, because Rick had gotten into the habit of presuming that people who disappeared were dead. It'd become easier that way. Some imagined sense of closure, maybe.

There were a few hacking breaths in-between those thoughts. Death’s sense of humour must’ve gotten crueller, if it was going to let him suffer physical pain in the afterlife too.

“...Merle?”

 _Shit._ But that wasn't supposed to be the first word he croaked out.

Carol didn't seem to mind. Her mouth was still moving occasionally, saying something that might have been soothing or important.

“No, I'm not Dixon. Very relieved to say.”

Rick coughed again and tried to regather his thoughts. To ask more appropriate questions.

_Why aren't you dead? Where are we? Is Merle okay?_

“...you're lucky to be alive. That dummy actually came through. How about that?”

Something pressed against his stomach, and he wanted to look at it. But it was taking all his strength just to keep a focus on Carol's face, and the odd rustic backdrop behind her that he didn't recognise at all.

It wasn't really a concern in the moment though. He was still too busy worrying about other things. Other people.

_Just had to keep coming back to Dixon, didn’t he? Damn it._

Carol smiled, as if she knew all about that.

“He's okay. He just went back to Alexandria.”

“...oh,” and Rick pretended he wasn't disappointed.

It wasn't like he'd expected Merle to stick around. To be the sort to wait diligently at his bedside every hour, wrought with worry until he woke. Then maybe some emotional and far too clichéd embrace that might've sealed their feelings for each other (whatever they were supposed to be).

_Of course not, that was bullshit._

But he had hoped that Merle would be _there_. That was all.

“Those Dixon boys are all the same,” Carol said, as if she'd read his mind. “ _Run away_. Seems like the easy option, sometimes.”

“Is it?”

Carol looked to the side, smiling wryly.

“Not always, no.”

And they left it at that.

“It wasn't Merle's fault this happened, you know,” Rick told her later, when more of his consciousness had come back together, and the burn in his torso wasn't so terrible anymore.

“Oh, I know.”

She tapped the kettle that was heating on a tiny stove, then poured out a couple of hot drinks for them both.

Rick took one with an apprehensive feeling.

“What did he tell you?”

“Nothing, really. But Dixon's poker face leaves something to be desired, so it wasn't difficult to figure it out.”

Rick raised a brow. “We were...”

“Together?”

“ _No_. Well, yeah-”

“I guess it makes sense,” Carol took a small sip of her drink, as if she hadn't just rocked Rick's mind with her deductive skills. “First and only time I see Merle Dixon look at anything like he's been cutting onions? Something is _seriously_ wrong there. I think you might've broken him.”

Rick wanted to protest, but the ache in his chest, something as painful as that damn bullet wound in his side, distracted him far more.

He smiled feebly.

“Wish I had an excuse. I don't. It just...just happened. Messed up, I know.”

“We all have our own ways of coping, Rick,” Carol looked away, and her gaze settled out the window, where the sky was diluted blue and far too bright. “And what about _my_ Dixon? How's he holding up? Does he still hate me?”

A flurry of questions, all spoken around a tight lipped smile. Rick tried to return it.

“Daryl doesn't hate you. But I think you might've broken a Dixon, too.”

“We're terrible,” Carol’s smile became sorry. “I suppose you'll tell them all I'm here?”

Rick started to nod, and then realised she had no idea what had happened to Glenn and Abraham.

It was easy to forget.

Not that they were _dead_. That little detail was a constant headache permeating the back of his mind. But time was stopping and starting like a stuttering old car lately, and only seemed to allow itself to be measured by who’d died.

Rick took a braced breath, but there was a knock at the door in the same moment.

Carol rolled her eyes as she stood up.

“Suppose that'll be the King.”

Rick thought about questioning her sanity. Then wondered some more about his own. Or if he really was dead. 

_...you ain't gonna die, you ain't gonna die..._

And then he realised that old mantra, still sometimes replaying itself in the back of his mind, was _Merle’s_ voice.

_Bloody and wide eyes and furrowed brow, and a single dirtied hand clutching at his own, much too tightly._

But _of course_ it was him.

Strange, recalling Merle so afraid like that.

As Carol opened the door, Rick decided he might as well welcome whatever came next.

Seemed everything (and everyone) was full of strange surprises these days.

**

**

“Carol needs to be told.”

King Ezekiel didn't lecture Rick. He didn’t seem like that kind of person anyway. He just made a statement and let it hang above Rick's head, allowing him to figure out whatever he wanted to do with it.

He was a benevolent sort of leader, so far as Rick cared to hope. He wasn't the Governor or Terminus or Negan, and he didn't lead anyone through fear or by nefarious means.

Obviously, this was what made him such a success. And the tiger at his side couldn't have hurt, either.

“I'll tell her,” Rick decided. “But we need your help.”

It wasn't planned, but the sight of the Kingdom rekindled something close to hope within him. A thriving community, and within its walls Rick could imagine how the world might start to grow into something functional again.

Oh, but if Alexandria could see _this._

“Your friend left in quite the hurry,” Ezekiel said.

Rick blinked. “Friend?”

“Yes. The one with the interesting arm attachment.”

“Oh, Merle? Yeah. He ain't exactly the sociable type.”

“I gathered. Even so, he told me to tell you he was sorry.”

Rick tilted his head.

“For what?”

Ezekiel shrugged. “I'm not sure. For leaving, I suppose?”

**

Rick returned to Alexandria a couple of days later, all without fanfare.

Michonne and Daryl were waiting for him at the gates, more stoic than usual. Carl stood a little further back with an unreadable expression. Rick would later translate that as pissed.

Merle was nowhere to be seen.

A couple of weeks after that, framed against cool mid-autumn sky, Rick watched as Michonne swung her katana and stabbed it into the decomposed head of walker.

“I just don't know if we can trust them.”

Rick smiled faintly. “You sound just like Merle.”

“Don't give me _that_ much credit. I wasn't half so worried about you.”

She sliced the katana through the air again, then pointed it toward the yellowing field ahead. Merle and Carl were there, the undetailed outlines of two figures swinging sticks at each other. Every so often Merle raised his arm in a stopping motion, then Carl would nod and start swinging again.

It’d become a regular routine, apparently.

Rick secretly smirked. Wild that Merle Dixon resembled a responsible guardian, sometimes.

“Coincidental, don't you think?” said Michonne. “You two go off on a 'supply run', and some sniper comes along to take you out like that?”

“You thinkin' it was a Saviour?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Or maybe someone who's been following you.”

"Maybe," Rick sighed and rubbed a hand over his brow. “It _was_ a supply run, by the way.”

“Right. You two just went looking for supplies _all night long.”_

“Could’ve happened,” Rick leaned back against a gutted-out car, then pressed a testy hand to his injured side. “He’s barely spoken to me since I got back.”

Michonne swung her sword again with scowl.

“Don’t take it so personal. Merle’s all business these last few weeks. I kinda miss his bullshitting,” she looked mildly disturbed by her own words. “Jesus. Don’t tell him I said that.”

“Secret’s safe.”

But Rick missed it too.

There was something decidedly neutered about Merle lately. He’d visited Rick’s house a few times in the first couple of weeks of his recovery, but only to relay walker reports and drop off random supplies. He didn’t look Rick in the eye the entire time, and he didn’t stick around long enough for Rick to question it.

To be fair, in those first couple of weeks other things had taken immediate priority; such as making sure that Carl and Judith were okay, and then the sorry business of being cooped up and waiting for a bullet wound to heal.

Tara had volunteered looking after Judith (in-between reassuring Rick that the community wasn't actually falling apart), and by the time Rick was feeling much better he had discovered that both Merle and Michonne were playing combat trainers _and_ surrogate parents to Carl.

Rick was just relieved that Carl was sometimes smiling again.

“So, you think we can trust them?” Michonne probed.

“The Kingdom saved my life. They didn’t have to do that.”

“ _Merle_ saved your life. He found the damn place.”

“And yet he’s still pissed at me.”

Michonne looked at him in some despair. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

She raised a hand, beckoning to the two figures in front of them. Carl returned a wave, and Michonne nodded to the gates, before turning back to Rick.

“He’s not _pissed_ at you, you dumbass.”

Then she looked across the field again and gestured for Merle to come over. He seemed hesitant, even at a distance.

Michonne left without any elaboration, and Rick was left to watch as Merle began to turn into something detailed and terribly missed as he approached.

“Hey, Friendly.”

His good arm was raised in some half-hearted attempt at a greeting, the other shielding his eyes against fierce sunlight. He turned and leaned only slightly against the hood of the car, parallel to Rick.

“You doin' okay?” the words were alarmingly earnest.

Rick nodded. “Yeah. Better than a couple weeks ago, to be sure.”

Merle didn't return his smile, and Rick noticed the way his arm tensed. Fingers scrunching at rusted metal on the car.

It looked painful.

“You okay?” Rick asked.

“Uh huh. Sure thing.”

“Good.”

It was stilted, like a rehearsed conversation between them. Small talk that shouldn't have existed anymore.

Rick knew it, because he could see the flutter in Merle's throat when he swallowed, and the unnaturally deft way he kept his gaze ahead, as if looking at Rick for too long might turn into his most fatal mistake.

Rick decided to test it.

He placed a hand on his knee. Light enough, but also enough to make Merle tilt his head down, and stare at it like it might be a foreign creature.

“What’s up?” he asked.

Rick tried to smile at him again.

“Just kinda upset. You didn’t even have a get-well-soon card waiting for me.”

The corners of Merle’s mouth tugged, but that was all. “I don’t remember you ever gettin’ me one, either.”

“We weren’t really friends then. Also, you were an asshole.”

“I’m still an asshole.”

“Mm. Not so much anymore. Only sometimes.”

“Yeah?” Merle turned his head, _finally_ , to look at him.

His glare wasn’t typical, and it was verging upon something else. The harsh sunlight made his skin look rougher and paler, and Rick noticed the darker circles shading his eyes for the first time.

“Merle, what’s the matter…”

“It's nothin’,” Merle said, and his smile was as forced as his words.

His gaze wandered slowly down Rick’s body, and it wasn’t leery or anything suggesting that. His eyes froze upon a single spot, and his mouth moved into an uneven line with it.

Rick realised he was staring at the bullet wound. The bandaging there was still visible through fabric, as were the fading stains of blood.

Merle turned away. “I’m goin’ on a run later. You need anythin’?”

“It’s already _sunset_.”

“You need anythin’?” Merle reiterated, as if he were asking the field.

Rick debated a more truthful answer.

 _Yeah, I need you, you dummy_.

But that would have been too sentimental for either of their tastes, perhaps.

“…no,” he settled on, and clutched at his knee instead.

Then he found a lax hand in his own. Merle's fingers were dirtied and warm as usual, but they didn't move and lock between Rick's this time.

Instead he made a shaken sound, as if the touch might have stung him.

“You okay?” Rick asked.

Merle nodded and stood up in a rush.

“I gotta go,” he said. “...gotta...got shit to do. You know.”

**

**

“I got some shit for us to do,” Rick told him, a couple of days later.

Merle glanced up from what looked like a motorbike autopsy. Tools and mechanical parts all laid out in Daryl's garage, and Daryl's hunched form inspecting what looked like the skeleton of an old bike. Merle knelt nearby, occasionally passing him the appropriate component.

He exchanged a glance with his brother before standing up, looking Rick over with a curious face.

“What's the problem, Sheriff?”

“We're goin' to Hilltop. Need to convince them that the Kingdom is a good idea.”

Merle scoffed, but not for the reasons Rick suspected.

“You got shot barely three weeks ago. ‘Member that shit?”

“Yeah. And I'm all good now.”

Merle's smirk was considered.

“Yeah. That's what I figured,” he shrugged. “Who am I to talk, anyways?”

“That’s the spirit.”

It was their first proper run together since the shooting incident, and it showed.

It wasn’t difficult, noticing the cautious way Merle led them out of Alexandria; the way he held his assault rifle, posture rigid as Rick got into the car. He’d always been pretty good at that sort of thing. Rick guessed it was the ex-military side coming out, but now it was all so prominent and procedural.

Merle gave a backwards glance and a wave, before Michonne and Daryl were following them into the vehicle.

Carl hung back at the gates with a soured expression.

“Kid'll get over it,” Merle said, then looked at Rick with a warier face anyway. “You sure 'bout this?”

Rick nodded. “We can't waste any more time.”

**

Maggie was waiting for them at the Hilltop gates, having already been alerted by some scouts of their arrival.

Her face was hardened, and though her rifle hung loose at her side Rick didn't miss the armed guards flanking the edges of the site.

“It's been a while,” Rick greeted, and she nodded and invited them all in.

“It has.”

She didn't say another word until they were behind the closed and grandiose doors of Hilltop’s Manor house. Jesus stood at the entrance, back to the door, like some propitiated bodyguard.

Merle leaned back against an oaken desk.

“So what's all the hooplah, Bo-peep?” he asked what everyone else was wondering. “We under house arrest or what?”

Maggie scowled, but not at anyone in particular.

“Gregory tried to kill me.”

She went on to tell them about his betrayal, and the fact that he was currently incarcerated, awaiting an unconfirmed death sentence.

“Holy _shit_. Bo-Peep the executioner. I like it.”

“Shut up,” Michonne said automatically.

“It isn't like that,” Jesus said. “Nothing’s been decided yet.”

Merle sneered at him. “Let me guess, you're all about saving his sorry ass?”

“I’ll hazard a guess you’re not?”

Merle didn't seem interested in disputing it. He smiled and raised his hand in short defence.

“I'm just sayin', might be the best way, is all.”

“I agree,” Maggie's voice was clear and decided, and everyone stared at her as if she'd already done the deed. She didn't look fazed. “He needs to die.”

Merle laughed. “We’re really on the same page here, ain’t we, Bo-Peep?”

“ _Shut up_ , _Merle,_ ” Michonne said, and then looked at Maggie in some concern. “Maggie, you can't-”

“I can do what I think is _right_. And this is right for my people. Gregory wants to sell us out to the Saviours. Then he tries to _kill_ me. How many chances am I supposed to give him?”

The argument was only uncomfortable because it was compelling.

Rick had become used to such moral dilemmas. They were endless and had become part and parcel of the world they lived in now, but it still troubled him to see someone like Maggie dealing with that.

She seemed to realise it.

“You don’t think I’d do it, do you?” she looked at Rick. “But I would. I’d do _anything_ now, to keep my baby safe. And I can’t risk anything else, not after what happened…” her voice faded, because everyone knew what she was referring to.

Michonne turned away, and Daryl looked impartially out the window, as if he'd detached himself from the entire conversation.

Merle hauled himself away from the desk.

“I’ll do it. Kill him, I mean.”

He spoke plainly, like he might be suggesting a trip to the shop. He looked expectant too, as if Rick or Maggie were supposed to nod and tell him 'yeah, that's fine.'

“Okay,” Maggie said. “I can go with that.”

Rick stared at her.

“No. We're not doing that.”

“Why not? It solves the problem. And Merle _wants_ to do it.”

“Of course he’d want to,” Jesus said. He pulled away from the door and frowned between all of them. His glare rested on Merle. “That isn't how we do things round here, anyway.”

“That’s funny,” said Merle. “Coulda sworn your leader were sayin’ somethin’ else.”

“This community is still a _democracy_.”

Merle scoffed, and Rick moved unconsciously closer to him.

An arm stretched out, as if catching his wrist was actually going to make him shut up.

Merle did shut up, but he didn’t look at Rick at all.

Maggie looked warily between all of them.

“What did you lot come here for, anyway?”

*

They left the Hilltop on a tenuous note.

Rick wanted to be pleased that they were considering the Kingdom a useful ally. Another string to their bow against the Saviours, at the very least.

But all he could really think about was Merle and all the dumbass ideas that seemed to follow him around.

“You're not a damn assassin for hire, you know.”

They stood just outside the gates of Alexandria. Merle was leaning obnoxiously against the roof of the car, looking far too interested in the state of his bladed hand.

He glanced up at Rick as if he were boring him.

“What’re you gettin’ your panties in a bundle for? I'm just offerin' a favour, is all. An' that Gregory asshole deserves what's comin' to him.”

“That's not the _point._ You don’t have to get your hands dirty like that anymore.”

“'Hands'?” Merle said wryly. He raised his mutilated arm, like the punchline to a bad joke.

Rick scowled. _“_ You know what I mean. You don’t work for the _Governor_ now.”

“No. I just work for you now, right?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“ _Sure_ you didn’t.”

Rick bit back a curse. Usually he could deal with an antagonistic Merle. Hell, it was his default setting most of the time anyway. But this was different, and Merle’s smirk looked strange and bitter.

He rolled his eyes, slinging a rifle over his shoulder. He appraised Rick like he might be humouring him.

“Y’know, you act like you know what's best fer people, Rick. But you don't know everythin',” his brow twitched. “Or we wouldn't be in this shitty ass Saviour situation in the first place, would we?”

The words didn't contain any bite, but that only made it much worse.

Rick felt nauseous. And it was weird too; watching the way Merle just stood there, sneering at him. Goading for a reaction.

Rick didn't want to disappoint. And he was _pissed._

He swung a fist. It was hampered by emotion and little sense of direction, but it was still enough to knock Merle back and onto his ass.

He sat there and laughed like he'd expected it.

“Least yer still got that neat right hook,” he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grin splintering with a thin thread of blood.

Rick didn't feel any better for it.

**

He felt much worse upon telling Michonne, who listened as if he was telling a story she already knew the disappointing conclusion to.

“He’ll kill Gregory," Rick said. "Whether Maggie wants him to or not.”

“You think so?” she sounded doubtful, for whatever reason.

“ _Of course he will_ ,” Rick glared at the ground. “I just don’t know what to do with him.”

It wasn’t true at all, because he knew _exactly_ what he wanted to do with Merle Dixon, and most of that stuff involved shaking sense into him or getting far too intimate with him these days. But that was also what made it so infuriating.

Because at this point it was _tiring,_ pretending he didn’t care. Pretending he didn’t care whenever that dumbass disappeared for too long on some mystery run. Or whenever he eventually came back, with suspect scrapes and a bloodied knife hand, then barely said a word about it. Or just wore a stretching grin, as if _that_ were supposed to suffice.

“He won’t kill Gregory,” Michonne said, drawing an idle line across the table with her finger. She looked up at Rick. “Merle’s not like that anymore, and you know it.”

“I don’t,” Rick wanted to believe himself, even as his throat narrowed with the lie.

Michonne looked to the side with a sigh.

“You remember back at the prison, right? When I first met your group?”

“Of course.”

“Back then you looked at me like I was a wild animal. Like I couldn’t be trusted,” her voice became hushed, eyes narrowing like an accusation. “You remember that too, don’t you?”

Rick nodded slowly, unable to meet her gaze. “Yeah. I remember.”

“Well. You looked at Merle exactly the same way. But for a _long_ time. You just kept waiting for him to screw up. Only because you knew that he would.”

Rick felt his lip curl.

He almost _longed_ for a time back at the prison. A time when he’d hoped Merle wouldn't make it back from one of those runs. Maybe he’d get caught off-guard by a rogue walker. Or shot in the head by another terrible human because of his smart mouth.

Oh, but Rick used to _count_ on it.

_Anything to get rid of their black sheep._

“Could you blame me?" he muttered. "It was… _different_ then.”

Michonne stood up, levelling him an uncompromising stare.

“Right. And things are different now. _People_ are. Some people changed for the better…some for the worse,” there was a deliberate pause, and her gaze eased just a bit. “Merle changed. Only because of you.”

“He...”

Rick felt his stomach clench, but before he could consider a more coherent response, Carl was walking into the room.

“You talking about Merle?” he looked only mildly interested in the conversation. “I think he’s pretty cut up about it all.”

“…about what?” Rick was confused.

“Uh, about you getting shot?” Carl opened a cupboard door, debating between the luxuries of two candy bars. He settled on one before turning back to Rick. “I think he still feels guilty. Or something.”

Rick exchanged a glance with Michonne.

“Why would he?” Michonne asked slowly.

Carl frowned through a mouthful of candy, looking at them both as if they'd been recently concussed.

“Er. Because that supply run was his dumb idea, right?”

And then he left the room, like he hadn’t just solved the puzzle that had been eating Rick alive for the past few weeks.

Michonne smiled at Rick through a shrug.

“Who knew teenage boys could be so enlightening?”

**

Rick walked to Daryl's house with intent.

It was very late, but the porch light was still on, casting a harsh spotlight on the motorbike that had become a strewn-out staple on the lawn. There wasn't much point in leaving it in the garage, since Daryl was more often out than he wasn't.

Tonight he wasn't, and he stood in the doorway looking at Rick with some apprehension.

“Is he alright?” Rick asked at once.

Daryl's shrug was non-committal. He gestured for Rick to follow him inside.

Daryl's house wasn't much for guests; the scant décor, consisting of the odd dead or dying plant that some thoughtful Alexandrian (probably Carol) had given him many months ago. Muddied footsteps, both old and fresh, tracked the beige carpets, and the walls were stripped bare of everything but the default magnolia.

The kitchen countertop was covered in cigarette ends and emptied whiskey bottles. Bags of trash that probably contained more whiskey bottles littered the floor, like a drunken gang of raccoons had had their way there.

Daryl looked at it all with a disdainful face.

“He's doin’ pretty shit, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Rick cleared his throat. “Look. I punched him cos-“

“Cos he's a piece of shit? Yeah, I know,” Daryl didn't sound surprised at all. He might have looked regretful about it though. “What’d I tell you? Merle ain't good at relationships. Only good at screwing ‘em up.”

“It isn’t a…” the words dried up within Rick’s throat.

Tired of _pretending._

Daryl’s face became curious.

“Where'd the hell you two go that night, anyway? Merle ain’t said a damn word about it.”

Rick looked away, feeling the heat crawl up his face.

“Hell. Never mind,” Daryl rubbed the remnants of dirt off his hands and onto his jeans. “Ain't said more than ten words to me since he got back today. And most of ‘em were tellin’ me to fuck off. Maybe you'll have better luck.”

He stepped back. It was an unspoken admission, because of course Daryl Dixon wasn't about to tell Rick to go and fix his consistently broken brother.

“Go easy on him, alright?” he said instead. There was something imploring in his voice.

Rick nodded. “Of course.”

But he felt heavy as he walked up the stairs and entered the nearest bedroom.

The first thing he noticed was another empty whiskey bottle, languishing on the floor with more cigarette ends. The cannister that acted as a makeshift arm attachment was set aside there too, long-dried blood caking it's bladed end. It looked cruder than usual.

It all should have been a repellent sight, but Rick’s legs moved in an instinctive rush to reach the bed.

The outline of Merle's back was softened by moonlight, and as Rick sat down he noticed the amber glow of a cigarette, precariously hanging in his good hand.

Rick leaned over, chest pressing to the other’s back, as he took the cigarette away.

“One day you'll burn this damn house down, Dixon.”

Merle's back rose with a sharp exhalation.

He turned his head, looking at Rick with a groggy face. He rubbed his eyes as if he might be trying to get him into better focus.

“...the hell you doin' here?”

“Just checkin' you're still alive.”

Merle grumbled. “...feel dead,” and then turned his head back away.

“Not surprised. You look like you’ve been drinking for three or four. At least.”

“…get outta here.”

Rick was undeterred.

He moved properly onto the bed, feeling hotter skin prickle through fabric and onto his own. Legs entwined around legs, and then the gap between them disappeared.

There was a heavy and persistent pound against palm, as he reached his arms all around, to meet again at Merle's chest.

“Better?”

Merle mumbled something unintelligible, but the beat against Rick’s hand moved faster.

Rick circled it in slow and considered motions, then kissed the back of a dirtied neck. It was happily familiar, and dusty curls of hair tickled at his nose.

“Dummy. Why’d you tell Carl it was all your idea?”

The silence was long enough for Rick to be able imagine a furrowed and annoyed brow.

“…I don’t remember,” Merle said at last.

Rick wanted to tell him he sounded like a bad liar.

“Never mind,” he said instead. “Anyway. I'm sorry I punched your dumb face.” 

“…I was askin' fer that.”

Rick would have argued that too, but it was easier to laugh and kiss skin again.

"Right."

“...I'm serious,” Merle said, and he sounded like he was.

Rick felt the tension pulling at limbs underneath his arms, and the shake of another breath against his palm.

Rick sat up, just enough to see a profiled gaze.

“Why would you _want_ me to punch you, Merle?”

Merle's mouth curved, like a bad attempt at a smile.

“...ain’t nothin' but bad news for you, Friendly. You know that, right?”

Rick snorted. “How'd you figure that?”

“Damn near got you killed…couple of times, now.”

“No. You _saved_ my ass a couple of times, is what you did. And a shitload more times besides that. You forget all that or somethin'?”

“I didn’t…” Merle started.

Then he twisted slowly around, onto his back. A begrudging gesture that seemed to melt away when he looked at Rick again.

“…ah, shit. Guess I jus’ never figured, how much I didn't want you to die on me....”

His sneer was spoilt by the crack in his voice.

Rick felt himself smiling, perhaps inappropriately.

“Good to know you don't want me to die, you jackass.”

“Hey, screw you.”

“No,” and Rick caught his chin, tilting his head up just a bit. “I'm touched you'd even give a damn about me. After all the shit I've pulled with you.”

“You do pull some pretty mean punches,” Merle licked his reddened lip, as if to prove the point.

“I am sorry about that.”

“Don’t be.”

“No. I _am_.”

Rick didn't hesitate; his fingers smoothing across jawline and then reaching and grazing the line of Merle's lip, all with very delicate precision.

Merle blinked, his mouth parting just a fraction. Like an implied invitation.

“Nah,” he muttered. “I'm sorry. Fer bein’ such a shit all the time.”

He didn't say anything else; mouth only moving and then shaping around a finger.

A smirk stretched around another, and then Rick felt the heated twist of tongue, as Merle dipped his head, cheeks hollowing significantly with the motion. His eyes became hooded, but never left Rick’s gaze.

Rick swore softly.

“… _damn tease, Dixon_.”

A grin scraped around his forefinger, then covered the tip in a kiss.

“Dunno what you’re talkin’ about, Friendly.”

Merle’s innocent tone wasn’t up to much, and Rick laughed.

“Jackass.”

His free hand wandered down, prying impatiently at covered flesh. Merle’s mouth moved into a muffled moan around his fingers, and then Rick felt skin arching and shivering beneath him.

“…yer a bigger tease, Friendly…”

Rick’s smile broadened and melded into a messy kiss. Merle tasted of a terrible concoction of cigarettes and alcohol, and his skin was already sheening with grimy perspiration. It wasn't a hindrance at all though. 

“You’re a mess," Rick said anyway, and kissed him harder. "What am I gonna do with you?”

“Ah…whatever the hell you want?” Merle laughed shortly.

Rick mirrored it, pulling at buttons with more haste.

“Gladly…”

“Wait a sec…” Merle spoke through a rushed breath, and his gaze was momentarily alight on Rick’s side.

His hand touched the corners of bandaging more carefully.

“…don’t it hurt yer, still?”

Rick shook his head.

“Not really,” he smirked. “Damn. But you’re cute when you’re concerned. Know that?”

Merle pulled a face. “Shut up,” but didn’t deny another kiss, nor a few more, before he was tilting his head away again.

“What’s wrong?” Rick asked.

“Nothin’.”

There was something roguish in his eyes as he pushed his hand to Rick’s chest, and Rick tipped to the side and then sunk back onto the bed, all in curious amusement.

Merle clambered clumsily on top of him, into a straddling position.

“...shit…” he held his head for a moment, like he was trying to temper a spiking headache.

“Hah, you’re so damn drunk, Dixon.”

“Yeah,” Merle didn’t seem to care. He swayed a bit, grin verging on the coy. “…but I’m still pretty good at this.”

“What’s that?”

“Uh. Some bullshit way of sayin’ sorry?”

Then he slid the rest of the way down, in obvious explanation.

Rick felt fingers tapering and tugging at his belt buckle, along with a couple of choice curse words, before it came undone.

Then a warmth between his legs, swallowing him up all at once.

“Ah, _shit_ …” said Rick.

And for a while his fingers were stroking and then coiling tightly into curls of hair. Then he was humming and moaning and _clutching_ at them.

But Merle had always been so good with his mouth. Especially when he wasn’t so busy running it off with his usual bullshit.

**

**

“Apology damn well accepted.”

Merle’s laugh crackled with sleep. “…well. My damn pleasure, Friendly.”

The affection in his voice was startlingly unashamed, and Rick grinned and kissed damp, curling hair.

“How’d you get so good at that, anyway?”

The bed was tangled sheets and limbs, and earliest dawn was streaming through the window, bathing everything in a sedate pinkish glow. A warmth nuzzled into the hollow of Rick’s collarbone, and then he felt Merle’s blissed-out sigh against his skin.

“…secret,” he murmured, and nothing else.

Rick pressed another kiss to his forehead. “I see.”

It was a surreal sort of moment. Something that could’ve tricked Rick into thinking he was in a world that was ‘normal’ again. Just for a little while.

Sure, he’d shared a bed with Merle plenty of times before, but it’d always been a snatched moment, here or there. The in-between times on a supply run, when the domesticated rules of Alexandria didn’t apply to them anymore, and the bed had always belonged to a stranger who was probably dead or dead-walking now.

Rick had never stared through the window at the sky, watching it move so gradually from fading blue into orange sunrise, with Merle _right there._

“…yer still here…?” Merle sounded sleepier and more surprised.

“'course.”

“Just checkin,” and then he yawned, head pressing to Rick’s chest some more. “…wonderin’ if I was dreamin’ or somethin’…”

“Turning into quite the sap, ain't you, Dixon?”

“…yer just a bad influence on me.”

“I’m _sure_ ,” Rick’s smile quivered. He realised he’d have to leave before the sky got much brighter. “Negan’ll be here later.”

“Mm. Asshole,” Merle muttered.

“So you’re gonna have to lay low.”

“Would prefer t’ bash his brains in.”

“Another time,” Rick said, like a promise. He sat up, with some regret.

Merle was barely disturbed by the motion. He turned onto his stomach with a softer sigh, and the welts on his back were suddenly exposed and severe, set against the dawn like that.

Rick deliberated, hand hanging over, then fingers barely dusting the scarring. Merle didn’t seem to notice.

“Gonna get you some water first,” Rick decided. “Before you die of alcohol poisoning or something.”

“…mm hm.”

Rick wandered downstairs with a strong inkling that Daryl wasn’t there. Doubtful that he would've stuck around long enough to risk hearing whatever was happening in the bedroom. As if the poor younger Dixon hadn’t been through enough traumatic experiences.

Rick smiled as he picked up the post-it note on the kitchen countertop.

_Gone to see Carol. Back tomorrow, you animals._

Rick had never really wondered too much about the enigma which was Daryl and Carol’s relationship. The end of the world was just pretty good at bringing together some odd couples, he guessed.

He guessed he knew it better than most.

He was pouring water into a glass before he noticed Merle padding down the stairway, clothes creased and face flushed with the obvious notes of a hangover.

It made Rick smile and wonder about early mornings together. Sugar in coffee, maybe tea. Cereal or toast. Dumb couple shit like that which nobody could afford to think about anymore.

Most likely Merle would’ve opted for none of those things, anyway. A bandolier of squirrels fresh out the forest seemed more likely, even pre-apocalypse.

“…ah shit...my head...”

And he clearly wasn’t a morning person.

Rick smiled. “How’re you feelin’?”

Merle slouched against the door frame.

“…head hurts…throat hurts...”

“Yeah, sorry about that one,” and Rick walked across the kitchen, raising the glass of water to Merle’s lips. “Drink up.”

Merle looked sceptically amused. “No you ain’t.”

“ _Drink._ ”

“Alright, alright,” he drank messily, before resting his head against Rick’s shoulder with an appreciative sigh.

“Better?” Rick asked.

“…yeah. Is Daryl around?”

“No. Lucky for us.”

Merle took a teetering step back anyway. “Reckon I owe him an apology.”

“What else is new?” Rick hovered a hand near his arm, because Merle still looked delicate, even as he hauled himself onto the kitchen countertop. Legs dangling and heels kicking the cupboard, like a tired hooligan.

“Was pretty wasted. Think I hurled on his shirt.”

He stretched out an arm, picking up a cigarette packet. He pouted when he realised it was empty.

“I’m sure he’ll forgive you.”

“…an’ pretty sure I hurled on his bike.”

Rick winced. “Eventually. Eventually he’ll forgive you.”

Merle didn’t look so convinced, but he still smirked when he looked at Rick again.

“Don’t you need to get back, Friendly? People gonna talk.”

Rick turned back to the sink, washing up the glass with a shrug.

“Not likely. Anyway, Carl seems to like babysitting duty. Especially when Enid’s around.”

“Oh, man. Kid’s got _game_.”

“They’re only _babysitting_ ,” Rick reconsidered. “I think.”

He turned back round to see Merle’s grin, brighter than usual, even in the fairly dim kitchen.

“You ain’t given him the birds n the bees yet, Friendly?”

Rick snorted. “It’s not been a big priority in recent years, got to say. Too busy trying to stay alive. You know, that kinda stuff.”

“Ain’t that the biggest part of stayin’ alive? Gettin’ busy?”

Rick rolled his eyes. “You trying to get rid of me or something, Dixon?”

“’Course not. Just didn’t figure you’d stick around so long, is all.”

“That the usual story with you?”

It was supposed to be an easy taunt, but Merle responded rather too quickly.

“Usually. Hell, be lucky to get a goodnight kiss, before I’m out on my ass.”

There was nothing piteous in his voice. He even _laughed_. But Rick felt it anyway.

He took the few short steps to meet him; hands clasping at legs, keeping them planted to the countertop.

“That so?”

Merle nodded. “Mm hm. One-night stands, no strings attached. That kinda thing.”

“You prefer ‘that kinda thing’?”

“Dunno,” Merle looked vaguely conflicted. He shrugged. “…easier, right?”

Rick leaned in, close to his ear. He could feel the thrum of heat between them as he hooked an arm around the other's back, drawing him in.

“I think _this_ is easier.”

“…hah,” said Merle, and his grin blurred away with Rick’s kiss.

Then another and _another_ , before they were breaking apart and Merle looked flushed and breathless.

“…what the hell’s ‘this’, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Rick admitted, and kissed his throat. “But it’s almost morning. And I kinda like waking up with you.”

Merle looked perturbed by the idea, maybe even uncomfortable.

His smile thinned out, and he shook his head at the ground.

“Crazy talk again, Friendly. An’ you ain’t even drunk no more.”

“I must really mean it, then,” Rick considered. “That, or I _am_ crazy.”

The possibility didn’t bother him too much. Merle’s oddly concerned face bothered him far more.

“You need to stop lookin’ at me like that, Dixon. I might get used to it.”

Merle blinked wearily to the side.

“Ain't lookin' at you like nothin', now," he said. 

"Hah. True."

Rick nudged at legs, and Merle took the hint, curling them around Rick’s back with a hitched breath.

“I want to apologise, too,” Rick told him.

Merle’s better arm clung to his back, and Rick felt a grin forming against his shoulder.

“…apologise fer what, Friendly?”

“Punching you in the face, of course.”

Merle’s laugh became easier, and then he turned his head, granting Rick easier access to his throat.

“Hell, when you put it like that…”

Rick turned the rest of his words into wanting moans and heavier sighs. A bottle or two rolled across the countertop and smashed onto the floor, but they weren’t distraction enough.

That only came in the form of a bang on the door, and then another voice;

“Daryl, I can’t find Rick…I think he’s… _holy shit_ …”

It was Tara’s voice.

“ _Shit_ ,” Rick and Merle chorused together, and then again as their foreheads bumped together too.

“… _shit,_ ” Tara said again, entirely unhelpfully.

Rick reeled back from the counter, almost pulling Merle with him. Disentangling limbs, he tightened the loosened buckle round his pants and tried to ignore the heat creeping up his face.

“Tara,” he attempted, even more unhelpfully. “This isn’t…”

“ _Dammit,_ woman,” Merle said, rubbing his head with an irritated face. “No-one ever teach yer how t’ knock?”

“…uh, I was…” Tara blinked a couple of times, taking a marked step back, as if she might be reassessing the situation. “It was just…it’s Gabe. I mean, he’s gone. So have a bunch of the supplies.”

“The crackpot priest? The hell you talkin’ about?”

“He’s _gone_. I think someone took him.”

Rick looked between them both, and Merle nodded as if he’d read his mind. He slid off the countertop, walking past Tara with a sheepish grin, then picked up a discarded knife.

The three of them ran outside into the early morning light, where Alexandria’s gates were still swinging open. Merle started toward the nearest car.

“Do you want to come with us?” Rick looked at Tara.

Tara stared between them.

“I’m sorry…it’s just…Gabe is gone…and you two were _making out_. I’m _kind_ _of_ losing my shit, here.”

Merle grimaced.

“Well hurry up and find it again, then get your ass in the car if you’re comin’.”

Tara looked a cross between compelled and distraught.

Rick put a hand on her shoulder.

“I know everything’s been kind of crazy for a while now. This is just another one of those moments, right?”

Tara’s nod was short, then she shrugged.

“…sure, why not? You and Dixon…not the craziest thing I’ve seen in the last year. Not by a _long shot,_ actually.”

Rick carried the sentiment with him as the three of them rushed to the car.

But crazy things might have been an understatement. In the same way Carol was actually still alive, or a King and his _tiger_ existed in the same place as a baseball bat wielding maniac. Or in the same way Rick still found himself caring too much about someone he wasn’t supposed to. Or at least had never _intended_ to.

Not in the beginning, anyway.

Michonne was right. _Things really were different now._

“You ready?” Merle was already tapping impatiently on the dashboard, looking at Rick with that face again.

And Rick really _did_ want to get used to it. And see a few hundred more sunrises in bed with it too, maybe.

He nodded and reached over, briefly clutching Merle’s hand.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely most self-indulgent/rambly chapter yet, apologies. If people are still enjoying, great!! I did change the placement of Gregory’s plot in comparison to the show, but I figure at this point everything and anything is fair game!  
> I had some fun with this one, even if the boys are well into ooc territory. Also I find it quite difficult to keep juggling the rest of the cast…there’s quite a lot to try and keep track of.  
> Please review/comment/whatever! It would be a nice early Christmas present if you can say something kind! and I need them….a writer’s fuel!


	8. Mess is Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick, Merle and Tara take a trip to a dumpsite, and something much more unpleasant is waiting for them back in Alexandria.

Rick followed the car at a safe enough distance; hands tense behind the wheel, mind full of thoughts that kept straying away from the current situation.

Negan would be at Alexandria soon, demanding his payments. And Merle was still at Rick’s side, which happened to be the passenger’s seat. He was looking out the window as if he were admiring pretty scenery.

Rick’s hand twitched out and onto his arm, and Merle looked at it with an interested smile.

“Well shit,” said Tara. “You two really are…aren’t you?”

Oh yeah, and Tara had almost caught them going at it about twenty minutes ago. Rick quickly retracted his hand.

Merle turned his gaze back out the window, lip curling into something resembling irritation.

“Why’d you invite Chambler along, Friendly? Ain’t I trouble enough fer ya?”

“I’m no trouble,” Tara insisted, and then leaned forward some more, eyes darting between them with childish interest. “Sorta explains a few things, though. Now I think about it.”

Rick braked as the car in front stopped, just outside the greyed entrance gates of a dumping site. Nobody got out.

Merle looked reluctantly in Tara’s direction.

“What ‘things’?” he grumbled. He was holding his head, clearly indicating a hangover.

“Well. You know. All those ‘supply runs’ you two are always going on together? And damn, now I _know_ you weren’t gettin’ me all those soda crates out the goodness of your heart, Dixon.”

Merle looked affronted, but only for about half a second.

“You think I’d use that as an excuse to get me some action?”

“But _of course_ you would,” Tara said, not missing a beat.

“You cut me real deep, Chambler. Really hurtin’ my feelings, here.”

Rick snorted. “The only thing hurting you is your head.”

He was tempted to add a pat to the shoulder, but it seemed a bit much when Tara was there.

And she was still watching him, with even more interest. “Guess I just never figured you were into guys. _Either_ of you.”

Rick swallowed an awkward feeling. “I didn’t figure that either.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“Daryl, Michonne-”

“This an interrogation, now?” Merle interrupted. “Don’t recall it bein’ anyone else’s goddamn business?”

“Alright. Sorry,” Tara sounded sincere, but a smirk still crept on her lips. She shrugged. “…welcome to the club, then. I guess.”

Merle frowned. “Club?”

“Yeah, you know. The ‘I didn’t know I was kinda gay till it happened’, club.”

Merle’s smirk was crafty. “Yeah, you’d think that, wouldn’t you?”

Tara’s curious face must have been catching, because it made Rick wonder too, and he hoped that she might ask Merle about it.

It was irrelevant a few seconds later though. 

Rick raised a hand in short warning, as the car in front began rolling forwards again.

The gates opened into a dumpsite, and then the figure of Gabriel was getting out of the car. He was accompanied by another unknown figure, too far away to distinguish between either a man or woman.

“What’s he doing?” Tara said, craning her neck between Rick and Merle.

Merle snorted.

“Hell knows. What do crackpot priests normally do?” he put his hand to the door lock and then looked at Rick, waiting for his signal.

Rick gave it a couple more minutes. The sky was already bathed in dawn, making the outlines of huge dumping piles just beyond the gates far more visible. Soon they’d be much more visible too. They’d have to play a stealth card or two.

“You got a weapon?” Rick asked Tara.

“'Course I've not. Wait, we’re actually going in there?”

“Obviously,” Rick nodded in Merle’s direction. “Stay close to me, both of you. And don’t do anything stupid.”

Merle rolled his eyes, as if he’d been told that line a thousand times before (he had).

“Yessir.”

“Dumbest plan ever,” Tara blinked at Merle. “You’re with me on this, right?”

Merle shrugged as he opened the car door.

“Ain’t my call. I jus’ follow a dumbass plan an’ hope for the best.”

**

**

“…yeah, that was a pretty dumbass plan…”

“Oh, nice to know you listen to me. Eventually.”

Merle and Tara’s conversational tones were in direct contrast to the stars Rick was still seeing, as he regained groggy consciousness. He couldn’t even recall how he’d lost it, nor how it had even happened.

For a moment he wanted to ask Merle about that ambiguous comment he’d made to Tara. Something about not knowing you were gay until it happened, but apparently not...it seemed important and confusing for some reason, whilst his brain was still rebooting.

Then he blinked. Once, twice, three times, and Merle’s and Tara’s faces came into sharp focus at last. Both of them unsympathetic.

Yeah, it was a pretty dumbass plan.

As the edges of his vision cleared, he noticed statues standing behind them, decorating piles of trash; an arched cat, the vague idea of a human dancer, all made up of assorted wires and junk items.

In another world it might have been an experimental student art project. In this one…well, there was no telling.

“What happened-"

He was silenced by a flash of light to the face, and then silhouettes of people seemed to emerge, staring at the three of them like they might be a part of the strange art exhibit.

There was another flash, before Rick noticed the figure standing forefront to the rest of the group.

She was holding a polaroid camera, still taking avid photos of them.

“ _The hell is this_ -“ Merle started towards her, before the end of a sharpened stick lined up with his head. The woman on the other end had an unflinching expression.

Merle halted, smiling at the point of the stick like they might be old friends.

“Hey lady, no need to get all hostile. Ain’t very polite to point, y’know.”

Rick waved a warning hand in his direction, and Merle moved back to his side with a begrudging face.

“Whatta you got us into, Friendly? Ain’t worth that crackpot priest, that’s for sure,”

“Shut up,” Tara nudged him.

Rick clenched his jaw. The woman with the polaroid camera hadn’t moved nor said a word, but her eyes were on him solely, as if she was sizing him up for something else.

He quickly scanned the surrounding group, realising he couldn’t see Gabriel anywhere amongst them.

“They ain’t got nothin’ else worth tradin’ for,” Merle said, eyeing one of the sculptures with a bemused face. “Unless you take a fancy to some weirdass décor.’

“Please ignore him,” Tara said, to nobody in particular. “Everything he says is absolute bullshit.”

“Are you a collective or does one lead?” said the woman with the polaroid camera, ignoring both of them.

Rick hesitated, feeling both Merle’s and Tara’s eyes sliding, almost accusatory, in his direction.

Then a hand belonging to neither of them shoved him forwards.

“This,” the stranger hissed.

Rick took a couple more steps forward, ignoring the obvious tension that rippled through the surrounding group.

He smiled shortly.

“Hi. I’m Rick. We came for our friend. The er, the crackpot priest.”

And then the woman smiled back.

**

**

“Quite the charmer, ain’t ya, Friendly? She got a real thing goin' for you.”

Merle’s grin didn’t let up the entire car ride back to Alexandria. Nor did Tara’s, or either of their teasing.

Gabriel sat in the back of the car looking perturbed by it all, but perhaps too relieved that he was still alive to comment very much about it.

“She’s not my type, actually,” Rick considered, wanting to look at Merle. He kept his eyes on the road instead. “Can’t say people who live in the trash really…appeal to me.”

“But you’re with…” Tara started, before remembering Gabriel was there, and then seemed to think better of it. She offered Merle a sardonic smile instead. “I mean…you’ve had relations with some _trashy_ people, Rick. Surely?”

“Couldn’t possibly comment,” Rick said.

Merle returned a sneer, apparently disinterested in taking the bait.

He was much better at doing that these days, Rick noticed. Or maybe it was just because he got along well enough with Tara. Besides one fist to his mouth, he usually managed to keep banter with her on friendly terms.

Besides, everyone had punched Merle in the face at least once at this point. 

“You really think they’re going to help us?” Gabriel asked. He sounded more hopeful than doubtful about it.

Rick shrugged. “At this point we need all the help we can get. Can’t afford to be picky, can we.”

It was true, and since they’d come away from the dumpsite with a ‘deal’ of sorts, it seemed they could afford to be optimistic about it.

The woman taking the unnecessary polaroid pictures was called Jadis, and for a while it’d looked like she wasn’t going to let any of them leave alive. A short fight with an armed walker (which had left Rick with a bloodied hand), and some negotiations later had secured them their support against Negan. All they needed were more weapons.

“I reckon we’ve been duped,” Merle said. “They ain’t gonna help us. More concerned with helpin’ their own.”

“I don’t know. She seemed fairly convinced to me.”

“She was convinced by your dumbass face.”

Rick smiled shortly. “Or your dumbass threats?”

“Hey, would’ve been way more effective if I still had the knife attached,” Merle raised his arm, in piteous demonstration. “Don’t trust no one who don’t give me my blade back.”

“You don’t trust anyone, anyway,” Tara said, and sighed heavily as she leaned back in the car. She looked conflicted and bit her lip, eyes darting back up at Rick as if she was afraid. “Listen. I might…I might know about another place.”

Rick raised a brow, looking at her through the mirror. “What place?”

“Another…sort of 'army’, if you like. They might be more useful than these Scavenger weirdos.”

Merle looked round at her. “You been holdin’ out on us, Chambler?””

“…maybe. It was when I got stranded a few months back. I ended up on this beach,” she hesitated. “I came across this community of women. They call themselves Oceanside.”

Merle whistled. “You went on a little seaside vacation and found yourself a goddamn army of women? Bet you thought you’d died n’ gone to heaven.”

Tara scowled at him.

“If you think being held hostage and almost freakin’ _killed_ heaven, then yeah, I guess so,” She leaned forwards again, eyes harder on Rick. “Listen, there’s a lot of them, and they’re pretty capable and have weapons. But I promised…” she glared out the window. “I said I wouldn’t tell anyone else about them. They’ve dealt with Negan before, and it wasn’t a happy end.”

Rick pursed his lips, pretending to consider it.

In truth, he’d already made his decision. Whether Tara liked it or not.

It wasn’t like they had much choice. They needed weapons and they needed _people_ , if they were going to beat Negan in any capacity. And beating Negan was the only viable option now.

Anything else didn’t even cross Rick’s mind, anymore. 

He offered Tara a plaintive glance. “Maybe knowing what Negan’s like will give em more reason to team up with us.”

Tara looked away, brow furrowing. “I thought you’d say that.” 

They reached the road leading into Alexandria just a few minutes later, and the first thing Rick saw were the gates, gaping wide open. Then the truck parked just beyond them, and the gathering of far too many people within the town.

His hands curled round the wheel some more, and the pain in his palm was suddenly so much duller and insignificant than a few moments before.

“Oh _shit_ ,” Merle said.

And perhaps that was the most accurate summation of what they were about to get themselves into.

*

The shape of Carl in the mid-distance was the only thing that existed for a few moments.

He was standing with his hands behind his back and a gun pressed to his head, as if the deed was about to be done. 

“… _Carl-_ “ Rick broke into a run, before a hand grabbed his arm, yanking him roughly backwards.

“Easy there, Sheriff,” Merle said. “Likely gonna get real wild real soon, anyways.”

There was a dismissive note of humour in his voice, but his smile was grimmer than Rick had imagined.

Then he remembered that Merle was in danger too, and soon Negan’s grin was too close. Pearly whites flashing like a delighted crocodile between them, as if he couldn’t decide which was the more satisfactory prey.

“ _Well, looky here_. The prodigal leader and his ragtag sidekicks finally decided to show up.”

A circle of Saviours fell into diligent place alongside Negan, all armed and poised for any sudden movements. It was pointless, since the majority of Alexandrians were slump shouldered with a general sense of foreboding.

Michonne stood to the forefront, alongside Daryl, as if they’d taken up the mantel of joint leadership in Rick’s absence. 

“We were-“ Rick said.

“Hey now. Let’s cut the bullshit beggin’ part, Rick. Gettin’ kinda tedious.”

Negan moved with his usual swagger. It wasn’t so intimidating by itself these days, but accompanying Carl and the gun pressed to his head, it held a significantly heavier weight. 

“Let’s see. First things first…recovering my lost property,” Negan pointed the bat directly at Merle. “There it is. Boy have I missed _you._ And not even a kiss goodbye? Broke my heart, you leavin’ like that.”

Merle looked away. His stance was blank enough at a distance, but Rick noticed the clench of his jaw, and then the twitch of fingers that wanted to curl into a fist.

Negan noticed it as well.

“Aw. You missed me too? Sure as hell hope you did. We got _a lot_ of catchin’ up to do.”

Rick cleared his throat.

“We don’t need to-"

“Hey, now. What did I tell you about the beggin’ thing? Thought we’d got a nice handle on that now, right?” Negan turned on the heel of his boot, addressing the rest of the Alexandrians with a wider smile. “Anyways, got a nice simple proposal here, and I think you good people are gonna like the sound of it. Wanna hear me out, Rick?”

Rick didn’t move or say a word. He could only brace for something terrible, as tended to happen the more gleeful Negan became.

And it didn’t matter, because Negan seemed more satisfied with the non-response anyway. 

“Alrighty, that’s good. We’re all still on the same page here. I _like it_.”

He swivelled the bat for a couple more indulgent seconds.

“So, how ‘bout this; the sassy redneck in exchange for keepin’ your boy from goin’ six feet under today. An’ in a few pieces, I’m thinkin’.”

The pit of Rick’s stomach flipped. 

"...I..."

Of course the answer was obvious, but he was still unable to say the words, or even nod his head in coherent answer.

Negan raised a brow.

“Y'know, this is a one-time kinda deal here, Rick,” he looked back round at the rest of the Alexandrians, as if he was doing an airy power-point presentation. “Not an unreasonable exchange, is it? Pretty lopsided, really. Given that you _stole_ my sassy redneck in the first place.”

Rick opened his mouth and his throat tightened again with it, stuck with the words he didn’t want to say.

Merle took a couple of steps forwards, saving him anymore trouble.

“Okay, fair deal,” he said.

Rick caught his wrist.

“ _No_ …”

It was an instinctive and very stupid move. Rick knew it as soon as he saw Negan’s smile extend, into something more interested.

And then the way he watched Merle’s arm, lingering in Rick’s hold. 

“Don’t pay no mind to Rick,” Merle said, pulling his hand away. “He jus’ got hit on the head one too many times, lately. Ain’t that right?”

He looked back at Rick, and the curve of his mouth was the sort of grin Rick might’ve wanted to punch out in years gone by. And yet he still couldn’t speak or nod. Or do anything at all.

Merle frowned at him, then turned back round to Negan.

“See. He’s pretty out of it, I reckon. So we got us a deal or what? Thought we was cuttin’ through all the tedious bullshit today.”

Negan laughed loudly.

“Oh boy, I _have_ missed you. Ain’t lost none of that salt of the earth spunk, have you?” his expression darkened, and then he placed a gloved hand on Merle’s shoulder. “Kneel down, then.”

Merle barely hesitated or even flinched as he knelt, not that Rick could gather much of his expression. 

There were murmured sounds all around them, and Daryl separated himself from the crowd, tensed and eyes like tunnel vision on his brother.

“Awesome as shit,” Negan said. “Now. Take your shirt off.”

The order was noticeably abrupt, and Merle looked up at Negan with an indignance that couldn’t be hidden this time.

“What? I ain’t-“

“Ain’t a request, Dixon,” Negan interrupted, then nodded behind him, to where the gun was still pressed severely to Carl’s skull. “Unless you wanna have Grimes junior’s brains decoratin’ your back in a couple of minutes.”

Merle’s glare fell away all at once, replaced with something resembling a sneer.

“…okay.”

His arms looked unsteady as he raised them, and then he was pulling his shirt up and over his head in an awkward and jerking motion.

The afternoon sun made his bared skin look warmer. It also highlighted the scars that were already there.

Of course Rick had seen them all before, but he’d always been able to turn away. Usually too caught up in some lustful intimacy to dwell on them for very long.

But now he couldn’t look away, and everybody else could see them too, in the starkness of daytime.

It was like a violation, and he couldn’t do anything about it.

“Oh shit, someone’s been to _work_ here, ain’t they?” Negan said. He hovered his bat bare inches over Merle's back. “Who the hell did you piss off, Dixon?”

Merle tilted his head to the side, as if he might be seriously contemplating the question.

“Uh. You want a list?” he asked eventually, more like a drawl.

Negan laughed, and then pressed the bat to the nape of his neck.

“You’re still good at pissin’ folk off, I notice. Lucille ain’t too happy right now, for example.”

Merle’s back jerked noticeably, but he levelled Negan another smile.

“Tha’s my specialty. Love pissin’ folk off. ‘Specially big ol’ assholes like yourself.”

Rick shut his eyes, waiting for the bat to swing.

He could already see Merle as another black mark against his name. Another in the ever-growing line of bodies, against the likes of Abraham and Glenn and Lori and...

“…and you’re the little brother, right?”

But Negan was speaking again.

Rick opened his eyes and saw that the bat was lowered, and Negan was looking at Daryl.

“Tell me if I got it wrong. Man, I am just _lousy_ with remembering names and shit like that. I’m pretty sure you two are related, though. Hell, what am I saying? You’re a redneck, you’re _all_ related. I just need the confirmation.”

Daryl blinked away, and apparently that was confirmation enough.

“Great,” Negan said. “Now then, do me a favour and take your belt off, little brother.”

Daryl’s eyes hardened.

“What?”

“Belt,” Negan repeated. “C’mon, I know you ain’t that simple.”

He directed his bat in the vague direction of Carl.

Daryl seemed to understand, in the same way Merle did.

Slowly, he unbuckled and withdrew his belt. He hung it out in Negan’s direction, like a repellent offering.

Negan shook his head.

“Nah, nah. C’mon,” then he gestured back at Merle. “Teach your brother a lesson with it. He’s waiting.”

The implication seemed to reach the two brothers at the same time. There was a long pause between them, some wordless stare that didn’t give away either of their thoughts.

Then Merle smiled at Daryl as if he’d told him something wonderful.

“Alright then. Let’s get it over with, baby brother.” 

Daryl shook his head, lip curling in disgust.

“No…no, I ain’t doin’ that.”

Negan rolled his eyes. He poked Merle in the hip, with the tip of his bat. 

“Wanna remind your little brother ‘bout the penalties here?”

Merle’s smile stretched, undaunted. His eyes didn't leave Daryl’s.

“ _C’mon_ , baby brother. Thought you’d a’ grown a pair by now.”

Daryl’s jaw clenched, along with his hand on the belt.

“I…ain’t doin’ it. No way-"

“Don’t be a little bitch about it,” Merle interrupted, and his voice was suddenly a cruel but apparently familiar taunt. It matched the snarl on his mouth. “Little pansy ass. Turned out jus’ like the old man said you would…"

“Shut the hell up _,_ Merle.” 

Daryl's growl was like a warning, and Merle’s mouth cracked into a pleased grin.

He tilted his head to the side.

“Oh, you better _make me_ , boy.”

Daryl’s eyes widened a fraction.

“…what?”

“ _Make me_. Make me wish I didn’t leave you all on your lonesome with that asshole all them years back…”

“Shut up…”

“-make me wish I gave a shit when you was havin’ the shit beat outta you-

“-Merle-“

“-make me wish I gave a shit when the house burned down an’ ma-“

“ _Shut the hell up!_ ”

The belt snapped through the air along with Daryl’s arm, vivid and dancing against bright blue sky for a micro-second.

Then it ribboned down, cutting off the rest of Merle’s venomous words, and hitting skin with a terrible crackling sound.

Merle was laughing, though.

“…can do better than that, baby brother…old man’d be laughin’ at you...”

“ _Shut up!”_

Another crack, then another. And then another.

Rick looked away. The nausea had already hit his throat; it’d been there the moment he’d realised the Saviours were in Alexandria. But now it was lurching and trying to reach into the back of his mouth.

He stared past the snapping belt, letting repressed, choked sounds fade out into white noise within his ears for a while.

He looked at Carl instead, because Carl was worth this nightmare, _oh yes he was._

Didn’t mean it wasn’t going to hurt like a bitch, though.

“Man, I always hate getting mixed up in family domestics. Awkward as _shit_.”

Negan’s voice eventually pierced the fuzz, and when Rick blinked again everything looked sharper.

Negan’s hand was raised in a halting gesture, and Daryl dropped the belt with an anguished sound.

Merle was bent much lower to the ground, propped on his knees and elbows, head entirely bowed. The tremble on his back was barely noticeable.

Rick was almost relieved he couldn’t see his face. He couldn’t deal with knowing his expression just yet.

“…you done with us?” he heard his own voice, brittle in his ears.

Negan looked at Rick as if he’d forgotten he existed for a while.

“Oh yeah. I guess so,” he approached with a Cheshire cat grin, and then spoke lowly, close to Rick’s ear. “Better have your bit of redneck on the side ready for next time though, Rick. Gotta pay off some more of those dues, I reckon.”

Another wave of his hand relinquished a Saviour’s hold on Carl, and then the rest of them began to disperse, leaving the site a quiet and despondent aftermath.

Rick didn’t see Negan leave, nor did he really hear the gates close again. He vaguely heard Tara saying something soft and uneven at his side, and then arms were slinging all around him.

“I’m sorry,” Carl mumbled.

Rick wasn’t sure why he was. He hugged him back.

“I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Of course it was true, but he felt winded and detached as he blinked over Carl’s shoulder.

Daryl was knelt down next to Merle and saying something indistinct, and Merle was just shaking his head and batting a hand away, as if it didn’t matter at all.

He winced as he arched into a more upright position, then he said something else that made Daryl stand up.

The younger Dixon walked away with a distraught face.

Rick wanted to do something, but his feet were rooted to the spot, literally trying to tether himself to something that felt more real.

He watched instead as Michonne reached Merle. She held her hand out, pulling him to his feet. Her hand stayed close, hovering around his back but not touching it at all, as they turned and began walking back toward her house.

Not even an incline in Rick's direction. As if they were supposed to.

“…and we need to…”

Oh yeah, Tara was still talking.

Rick couldn’t look away from Merle’s back.

“We need to go to Oceanside,” he realised. “As soon as fucking possible.”

**

**

“It isn’t your fault,” Rick reiterated more than a couple of times, in the hour after.

Carl just fixed him a frown that suggested it wasn’t true. Then he’d left the house and Rick was left to sit in a silence he couldn’t stand anymore.

They were lucky, really. Carl was safe. Nobody had died. _Nobody._

By Negan’s standards it was a win, but in some ways it was much worse.

Because Rick didn’t know how he was going to be able to look Merle in the eye, or look at him _at all,_ and pretend it really was a win after what had just happened.

He found him a couple of hours later, lounging and laughing about something meaningless on the couch with Tara. She was perched on the armrest, trying to hide a smirk behind her hand, whilst Michonne seemed to be doing her best to ignore or occasionally chide the both of them.

Her attention was mostly set upon the map that was laid out on the dining room table.

Rick cleared his throat and stepped properly into the room. The laughter faded, and Merle looked at him with a fainter smile.

“Hey there, Friendly.”

“Hey,” Rick said, and walked the rest of the way over to the couch.

He stood floundering for a few seconds, wanting to do and say too many absurd things at once. And Merle just sat there looking up at him with a bemused face, which didn’t help at all.

“Hey,” Rick repeated dully, to the rest of the room.

Michonne looked over at him.

“Tara filled me in on Oceanside. We’re just running over the layout options. We need to figure out a good way to approach the site.”

Rick nodded and walked over to her on a vague autopilot. He scanned over the map and discussed tactical ideas in much the same mode.

Michonne obviously noticed, and when Tara and Merle were busily talking shit to each other again, she lowered her voice, so that only Rick could hear.

“I think he’ll be okay, Rick.”

Rick blinked, eyes flitting away from scribbled routes and calculated distances, to try and gage Michonne's expression.

“I need to be sure,” he said, and it was more of a realisation to himself

Michonne nodded.

“I know.”

“What d’you know?” Tara asked with interest.

“Nothing very important,” Michonne said quickly. She folded the map up and pointed it at her. “Come with me. I need your help with something.”

Tara frowned.

“What help…?” she trailed off, looking between Rick and Merle with all the subtlety of a car crash. “Oh. Yeah. _Right_.”

Michonne lingered, and walked over to the couch.

She put a hand on the back of the seat, but close enough to Merle’s shoulder.

“You okay, dummy?”

Merle tilted his head back to look at her, and his sneer eased into something that might have been appreciative.

“Don’t need t’ worry ‘bout me, darlin’.”

“Don't worry, I never do,” Michonne returned, the corners of her mouth moving into a vague smile. She patted a hand shortly on his shoulder though. 

Then she nodded at Rick and pulled Tara out the door with her.

Rick didn’t move, hardly _breathed_ , until the door was shut, and they were completely alone at last.

He thought he was doing alright. That he had enough composure left to spare, but apparently not.

He rushed the rest of the way to the couch, and pulled Merle into a rough and disparate embrace.

“… _Christ_ …I’m so sorry...”

The words didn’t mean anything in his ears, and they didn’t compare at all to the searing edges of guilt, still creeping around in his chest. Much heavier on his heart.

Merle pulled away and shrugged with an air of annoyance.

“What’re you talkin’ about? Ain’t your fault, dumbass.”

“…I should’ve _done_ something.”

“Like gettin’ your kid’s brains bashed in? Cos that’s how it woulda gone down, right?”

Rick blinked, hardly noticing the burn that’d reached his eyelids.

“…it’s still my fault.”

“Ain’t _._ ”

The childishness in Merle’s smirk should’ve riled Rick up, especially considering the circumstances. As it was, he was only happier to actually see it.

He pulled him back into his chest, kissing him with ferocity on the top of the head.

“…jackass,” he grumbled. 

Merle didn’t resist; only tilted his head up in time to meet Rick’s mouth with his own.

Rick kissed him deeply, drawing out a moan that turned into a gasp when Merle pressed back against the couch.

“…shit…"

“You alright?” Rick said in a rush.

“…uh, sure,” Merle’s grimace became a sheepish smile as he leaned forwards, hand testy on his back. “…might hafta…be on my belly for now, though. I mean, if you’re feeling frisky and wanna…“

“ _Merle._ ” 

“What?” Merle looked amused. “I'm just sayin’.”

Rick sighed, drawing a hand through his own hair.

“Just…just turn around, would you.”

Merle blinked, smile twitching.

“Okay.”

He shifted, his body twisting round awkwardly and slowly. The faintest sounds of uneven breathing following it.

He took a moment, shoulders rolling with a rougher exhalation. It allowed Rick to notice the lines of muscles, rippling close against the shirt fabric that covered his back.

Then he started to lean forwards onto his elbows, his good hand moving down toward his belt buckle.

“No, _no_ …stop,” said Rick, realising his intent. "Not that..."

“I thought we was….”

Rick moved his arms the rest of the way around, to meet at a taut stomach. He began easing him carefully back up again. 

“…just stay still. Please.”

The beat of a pulse pounded at Rick’s palm for a few seconds, before he slid his hands down, catching at the fraying fabric at the bottom of Merle’s shirt.

He began dragging it up, revealing a slice of bared flesh.

“The hell are you-” Merle jerked forwards a bit.

“-it’s okay, it’s okay,” Rick said, his breath bating. “...not gonna hurt you.”

He waited for Merle’s response, but he didn’t say anything. Only lowered his head a little.

It seemed like a gesture of consent, but Rick paused anyway, hands hovering around hips.

"Not gonna hurt you," he repeated, more quietly. 

The tips of his fingers lingered a moment longer, before slowly peeling the shirt the rest of the way up.

The extraction was awkward enough, and Merle swore as his bad arm caught shortly against the fabric. It hardly mattered a couple of seconds later.

The shirt was discarded and forgotten along with everything else, as Rick looked upon the mess that criss-crossed Merle’s back. There were threads of blood, still stemming slowly down and creating terrible patterns along their way.

Rick reached out, fingers barely brushing a shoulder blade. The skin quivered, along with Merle’s protest.

“Don’t.”

“…sorry,” Rick quickly retracted his hand.

He’d half expected a startled reaction, but he wasn’t so prepared for his own.

He swallowed the hard lump in his throat and stood up.

“Gonna go get some water. Stay here.”

He didn’t wait for Merle’s reaction, and hurried out the room.

The thing was, he’d almost gotten used to guilt in recent months. Oh, but he’d _had_ to.

Thinking about what could have been, or what _should_ have been, to prevent all the deaths that had already happened was a torturous business. If he dwelled too long on any of them he thought he might go mad.

Sometimes he had, and he’d taken it all out on Merle. But it'd never helped, he realised that now. 

He’d just been burdened with another terrible guilt, too.

He returned to find that Merle hadn’t moved from the couch at all. He was slumped and turned away, his glare directed at the floor. He didn’t even turn to acknowledge Rick as he sat back down behind him.

“Ain’t your boy gonna be wonderin’ where you’re at? Amongst other things.”

Rick shook his head. “Doubt it. Carl’s sick of the sight of me. Think everyone is.”

He hesitated, and then pressed a towel to exposed flesh. Merle didn’t protest, but he did take a shorter breath.

“…I mean, he’s gonna figure what’s been goin’ on with us. If he don’t know already. He’s a smart kid.”

Rick considered the words. Merle was right, and the idea of them being found out by Carl was still mortifying, but he found himself smiling at the other comment instead.

“Yeah, he is smart,” he pressed the towel down again.

Merle swore under his breath. “…sure as hell don’t take after you, Friendly.”

“Haha.”

“No, I mean it. What was that dumb Scavenger plan about, anyways? Just waltzin’ in there like you own the joint…balls gettin’ a little too big these days, Rick.”

“You never usually complain about that.”

“Hah. You know they ain’t gonna help us, right?”

Rick smiled thinly. “Oh ye of little faith.”

He carefully brushed along the line of another wound, and then waited, chest constricting, before Merle’s breath steadied again.

“Ain’t you the optimist, Friendly. Countin’ all them chickens…way _way_ before they hatch.”

Rick shook his head. Redundant, since Merle couldn’t see him.

“You don’t believe we can beat Negan.”

“I’ll believe whatever the hell makes you happy,” Merle's tone was wry. Probably not to be taken too seriously.

It still touched Rick, though.

“You always got my back, don’t you, Dixon?”

Merle scoffed, and his shoulder blades jutted out with the sound. “Yeah, and you got mine now, don’tcha?”

Rick’s breath caught with the words, hand freezing near a particularly nasty looking welt.

“...wish I had, then this mess wouldn’t’ve happened.”

Merle shook his head. “Bunch of old scars, Rick. Them new ones barely broke through.”

“You just tryin’ to make me feel better?”

“No. Just wishin' you’d shut the hell up about it.”

Rick felt himself smirk, however half-heartedly. He supposed it was the best version of ‘I’m okay’ he was ever going to get out of Merle Dixon.

As if he’d ever tell him that he wasn’t.

“Is Daryl gonna be okay?” Rick decided to ask instead, through the tiny silence. “I mean…after that.”

“…ah, he will be. Baby brother jus’ a little too sensitive, is all.”

“You mean he _cares_ , dummy.”

“Needs t’ grow some bigger balls, then. Hey, maybe he could borrow yours.”

Rick rolled his eyes.

He might’ve reminded Merle what a jackass he still sounded like sometimes, but it was difficult now. Because even though Merle _was_ still being a jackass, he was also just sitting there; skin bared and head bowed, in the most shockingly permissive gesture Rick had ever known.

He dropped the bloodied towel and leaned slowly forwards.

“Dammit, Merle, you _are_ a jackass…” 

Then he closed the gap, pressing his mouth delicately to marred skin.

He kind of expected this to be the moment that would bring a fist to his face. He was even braced for it.

Instead, flesh shivered and rippled in front of him, in time with the softest and most pliant moan he’d ever heard.

Rick smiled against skin, before kissing it again. And then again.

He could have done it forever; just watching the shape of Merle’s shoulders roll and slacken in waves. Skin arching and reacting to his mouth, all in a way that suggested such gentleness and affection were completely alien to him.

And hadn’t Rick always sort of known that about him, anyway?

He pressed another kiss into the curve of a shoulder, and Merle leaned heavier against him.

“…I’ll come with you to Oceanside," he said. "Best backup you got. One handed or not…”

“It won’t come to that.” 

"You don't know."

“I know that I want you to stay out of trouble,” Rick sighed, around a gentler kiss.

Merle barely flinched as he arced back, all with an involuntary moan. Because other things were, quite literally, more pressing right now.

“…Rick,” he said, and it sounded like an impatient plea.

Rick massaged a hand gently around his stomach.

"...you sure?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer. “…don't want to hurt you.”

“…nothin’ hurts me, Friendly.”

Rick blinked, unsurprised by the reply.

He watched the lines on his back, and it was bleeding again.

“Bullshit, Merle.”

The scars were like a torment shared between them now, he realised.

Like looking at too many messy reminders of too many mistakes he had already made; all of his terrible vices and bad decisions. Every cruel and unfounded judgement that had come back to bite them all in the ass, refusing to die but continuing to bleed. 

He followed the slight tremble of a hip with his hand, careful about where he placed his weight, as he shifted a bit.

One day he’d tell Merle that he didn’t have to bleed so damn much anymore.

"Are you sure?" he asked again, instead.

Merle tilted his head around, to look at him.

“…soft ass,” he sneered, but his eyes were glittering. “Sure I’m sure…”

Then he leaned in, kissing Rick urgently on the mouth.

Yeah, one day Rick would tell him that he didn't have to bleed at all.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well another chapter happened, who can believe it (I cannot). Sometimes I think this story is just tumbleweeds abandoned, then I’ll be struck with inspiration by some lovely person (you know who you are <3) and this crap happens. This one quickly devolved into Angst and Suffering City (or at least as Angsty as Merle will allow himself to get before he turns into Asshole Humour Man), so if that’s your jam you might like it? 
> 
> please review/comment...for the love of whatever god you do or do not worship...its gold dust...............


	9. The Bad Guy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick puts a plan into action and also makes some very questionable choices along the way.  
> Merle continues being a dummy and accidentally confessing things.

*

*

There had been a time, way before the world had gone to shit, that Rick had imagined himself as a ‘respectable’ person.

For a while after that it’d held steady in his mind. Keep the moral high ground, keep the group together. Kill all of your villains.

 _Just_ _keep everyone else safe._

But then it’d gotten grey, revealing how black and white and simple and _bullshit_ everything really was. How it had always been.

The old world was a lie, and in some ways he didn’t miss it anymore.

Maybe not at all.

“You reckon this is legit?” Merle’s eyes narrowed on the scrap of paper.

Everyone else was looking at it with similar suspicious amounts of contention.

“Like hell it is,” said Tara at once. “If this doesn’t smell like bullshit I don’t know what does.”

"Actual bullshit," Merle said, unhelpfully.

“Dwight helped you escape, remember,” Michonne said. “He didn’t have to do that.”

Tara’s glare became vicious.

“ _He also killed my girlfriend._ Or has everyone forgotten that minor detail?”

There was uncomfortable silence, but Rick was used to those these days.

He’d given up trying to confront them; it was easier to ignore. He would deal with such things when Negan was finished with. Nothing else was more important right now, especially when his head ached with the imagined thoughts of what he might do next.

What he might do to Merle next.

And Merle was just slouched casually against the table, making poor jokes and acting as if things like that didn’t matter at all.

“Ain’t no-one forgot, Chambler,” he said, offering her a placating expression (it was still weird, seeing him attempt to cool someone else down for once). “Don’t worry ‘bout that.”

Rick blinked at him.

“Did you see much of Dwight, when you were with the Saviours?”

Merle shook his head.

“…nah, not really,” he hesitated. “Didn’t see much of no one.”

Rick noticed the way he averted his eyes.

“Well,” he cleared his throat. “For now he’s the best chance we got. We have to take these co-ordinates in good faith.”

“What?” Tara was incredulous. “And just...hope for the best? Same as when we just wandered into the junkyard? Same as when we attacked the outposts? And look how that went down-“

“Hush up, Chambler,” Merle said, like a warning.

Tara gave him a sardonic look.

“And what happened to you, Dixon? When did you become Rick’s lapdog? Was it before or after he started screwing you-”

“The hell, Chambler-“

“ _Hey_ ,” Daryl was suddenly standing in front of them both.

He didn’t say anything else, he didn’t have to. Daryl was good at that.

Tara turned away with a barely contained scowl.

“Do whatever the hell you like, then. But if I see Dwight I’m gonna kill him myself.”

Rick believed her. He couldn't argue the idea either.

She deserved some kind of justice, if that was what it was. And who was he to decide what was or wasn’t fitting punishment? 

Just another one of those grey bullshit areas he didn’t care to deal with anymore.

“This whole plan is a risk,” Michonne said. “But it’s not like we have any better options,” she steepled her hands, looking pointedly at Rick. “We still need to find some decent supplies before Negan’s next visit.”

Rick’s jaw clenched.

“We won’t need to. It’ll be his last visit.”

“Maybe so, but just in case,” Michonne looked at Merle, and he seemed to know what she was thinking.

His gaze slid to Daryl, mouth curving up a bit.

“Ah, who knows? Maybe next time he’ll switch it round a bit. Have me teachin’ the baby brother a lesson or somethin’.”

“Shut up, Merle,” Daryl’s glare hardened some more.

"Shut up yourself."

Rick rolled his eyes. As far as he knew, the brothers had barely spoken since Negan’s last visit. In large part because Daryl seemed to be on his bike at least twenty hours a day, or else visiting the Kingdom.

Carol. It _had_ to be Carol.

Rick folded the note up, gaze terse in Merle’s direction.

“You're comin' with me.”

Merle straightened, already checking his bladed arm on diligent autopilot.

It was both comfort and torture, even as he sneered and moved closer to Rick. Like he wanted to be closer to him and didn’t seem to care who knew it anymore.

Maybe he'd gotten more careless with his affection, or Rick had just gotten more careless generally.

Tara was still frowning at them both.

“I didn’t mean to snap,” she muttered, in begrudging apology. “I just…everything sucks right now.”

It was such a blasé summation in so many ways, but Rick felt himself agreeing and snorting, and heard Merle’s laugh beside him.

“Give you first dibs on Dwight if it turns out he’s playin’ us, Chambler.”

“You’re so thoughtful, Dixon,” Tara’s mouth arched a smirk, even as she turned away from them. “Later, losers.” 

The mood settled somewhat after that, but Michonne looked between Rick and Merle with some confliction.

"You know if we go ahead with this, there's no going back."

"I know," Rick said. Of course he did. He'd played it over dozens of times already in his mind. "But like you said; not exactly overflowin' with other options, are we?"

“Sure there ain't no better way?” Merle was looking at him, and his face wasn’t imploring, but it still bothered Rick.

Why’d he still look at Rick as if he was supposed to have all the answers?

As if he knew _better_?

As if he knew Rick was still that respectable person, somewhere deep down.

Ha. What a joke.

**

**

“Dammit, Merle. You just don’t get it, do you?”

“I don’t get a lot of things.”

Merle was laughing even as he almost fell out of the boat again.

Rick grabbed his arm, yanking him back in. He toppled and laughed again, and then looked up at Rick with an attempt at a sombre face. It mostly failed.

“What’s wrong with you?” Rick said, trying to sound angrier than he was. His lips were already quivering a smirk.

He shaded his eyes; the afternoon was almost too bright with the autumn sun, warmer than usual too.

They’d found the battered old boat at the edge of the lakeside, and were currently making their way to an abandoned houseboat. All of this, in the middle of a lake that was more like a walker-infested soup.

Merle whacked one round the head with a rotten oar. It fell apart in his hands.

“Oh, shit…”

Rick pulled him back some more, dealing a kick to another walker.

They were in very real danger of capsizing, and Rick wasn’t sure he could handle going out in such an unceremonious manner.

He looked back at Merle, currently stabbing another walker through the head with his blade and a victorious grin.

“Merle…can you swim?”

Merle glanced back at him. As if he even had the time to contemplate the question. Damn fool.

“Um. Ain’t swum a lick since the las’ time I was on a boat. An’ I was wasted then.”

Rick grimaced. “Real comfortin’, Merle.”

They were going to have to swim for it; the realisation hitting him as rotten jaws narrowly missed his arm again.

Merle seemed to understand, and he nodded, smile turning into another grin.

“Bombs away, Sheriff.”

And then he was jumping into the water, with no warning at all.

“Dammit, Merle-“

Rick followed after, through another string of curses.

The leap into the water itself wasn’t so bad; it wasn’t very cold nor even that deep, but the weight of weaponry and clothing was a burden, and Rick was pulling his jacket off to grant some relief, as he swam the rest of the way to the houseboat.

He was hauling himself up onto rotten decking, before turning back in time to see Merle, still swiping at walkers and laughing like a maniac in between them, like he might be in a kiddy play pool.

“Hurry the hell up, dumbass,” Rick extended an arm, and Merle grasped it and scrambled up.

He looked back at the wading walkers with a triumphant grin and a flick of his middle finger.

“Suck on this,” his grin stretched; even as he pooled dirty water. A bloodied scrape was already adorning his exposed arm.

“Dummy,” Rick said, swatting him round the back of the head.

He stood up, taking in the houseboat with an instinctive wariness.

It was a small and tattered looking thing; just a single sheltered cabin and some sorry looking cabinets inside of it.

“Can’t even ‘member the last time I was sober on a boat,” Merle said. He was already squelching around the decking and peering into the cabin, poking at and opening cupboard doors. “…oh wait, yeah I do. It was me n’ Daryl an’ a shitload of beer…”

His voice got quieter in Rick’s ears as he looked into another cobweb-ridden cabinet. He drew back holding up a piece of paper.

“Oh, man. Reckon we got duped here, Friendly.”

Rick took the paper, scanning a crude drawing of a middle finger, along with the simple message scrawled upon it:

‘ _Congrats for winning, but you still lose’._

“Work of art, ain't it?” Merle grinned.

"Incredible."

Rick stuffed the ominous note in his pocket, trying to ignore a hopeless feeling as he walked back across the decking. There he watched the floundering walkers that still lingered in the lake.

“Well. Least we had some fun,” Merle’s smirk verged on the sarcastic. “And ain’t that the important thing?”

Rick glared at him. “We nearly _died_.”

“So what’s new? We’re always nearly dyin’.”

“At least pretend you care,” Rick was snapping, before he could stop himself.

Merle frowned at him.

“Didn’t mean it like that, Friendly. Just jokin' with ya," he turned away. "Otherwise it just gets kinda...tiring."

He didn't invite any elaboration, but Rick thought he might understand.

He’d seen it happen to too many people; the way their eyes glazed over, into something hardened and as undead as the dead themselves. People that’d seen so much death and had almost touched it too many times. And now it was normal and…and it _was_ tiring.

But a stupid moment in a capsizing boat hadn’t been that, nor was the way Merle grinned and laughed and talked dumb shit, as if they weren’t always fighting for their lives.

And it was all very stupid, but it still inexplicably _warmed_ Rick, despite everything.

He watched, feeling sorry, as Merle sat on the edge of decking, pulling off sodden shoes. He drained them of water with a heavier sigh, then attempted to pull off an equally sodden arm blade.

“Think I’m gonna rust,” he grumbled. “...Chonne’ll be wonderin’ where the hell we got to.”

“Nothin’ new there, then,” Rick said.

He attempted a better smile as he sat down next to him. He helped undo the blade buckles like it was second nature, only because it was.

“Think you’re right, Dixon. We have been duped here.”

Merle nodded, but didn’t seem too bothered. His gaze became crafty as he watched Rick put the blade on the floor. 

“Least I got to see you all wet and pissed. And ain’t that a pretty sight?”

Rick snorted.

“Always lookin’ on the bright and perverted side, ain’t you?”

“Mm, I dunno. Just wanna make the most of things. While we still can.”

Rick felt his stomach drop with the words.

He quickly shook his head.

“We’ll come up with somethin’ else, Merle.”

“Yeah. But Negan’ll still have his fun.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s okay,” Merle said, like an easy assurance. “Ain’t like I don’t deserve it.” 

Rick baulked.

“What’re you talkin’ about now?”

“You know what I mean. Ain’t no angel. This is some good ol karma comin’ for ol’ Merle. Had to catch up sooner or later.”

“I thought you were makin’ a conscious effort to quit talkin’ your bullshit these days?”

Merle’s grin waned.

“Ah, c’mon, Rick. Ain’t no-one here for you to defend me against. You know what I was like.”

“ _Of course_ _I know_. But that ain’t how it is now, is it?”

Merle scoffed. “If you say so.” 

The words sat in a strangely peaceful silence, and Rick stared at the lake.

It was beginning to still, as the walkers either sunk away beneath the surface or dispersed. The sun cast a shimmering and pretty light all across it, into late afternoon.

Rick swallowed a drier feeling in his throat. 

“Anyway, you lost your damn _hand_. I think that’s some pretty loaded karma for being an asshole.”

Merle laughed.

“Hah. Reckon I just gained a pretty cool weapon,” his tone became careful, when he looked at Rick again. “…maybe I gained some other pretty cool things too.” 

He turned away before Rick could gage much else. Not that he really needed to; it was kind of obvious.

Rick smiled at his profile.

“Can’t wait to tell Daryl what a huge sap his big brother really is.”

“Shut up.”

“Heh,” Rick nudged him in the side, and the nudge back was just as light, accompanying a softer sigh.

Rick barely noticed the shiver on his own skin, before noticing Merle’s.

He budged a bit closer, closing the gap and curling an arm slowly round his back. The sort of gesture that wasn’t normally warranted nor even so careful, but there it was. 

There were more of these tiny moments now, and in a normal and ordinary world they’d be filed away as precious memories, because _god knew_ Rick could use more of those. But here, in this new world, they were a danger by themselves. Caring too much was dangerous.

People always got hurt that way.

But Merle didn’t resist; head tilting slowly down to rest on Rick’s shoulder. And Rick couldn’t help his own arm, curving round him some more, fingers scrunching at soaked fabric.

The line of Merle’s mouth slipped into a laugh, and it sounded like disbelief.

“What?” said Rick.

“Nothin’. Just…I was never no good at bein’ with people. Not like this.”

It wasn’t such a surprising confession, but it was still hard to hear it. If only accompanying the quieter edge in Merle’s tone, as if he was ashamed of himself somehow.

His eyes narrowed on the lake as he straightened back up, away from Rick’s heat.

“Somethin' funny," he said, more like he was talking to himself. "Sometimes thought I was good with the Governor. Just for a while, back there. Ain't that funny?”

Rick prickled.

“He didn’t care about anyone, Merle. Not in the end.”

“Yeah, but you still kid yourself, right? Even when it hurts. Figure he didn’t really mean it, or maybe he’ll be sorry next time." His expression soured, along with his laugh. “Ah. But I never seem to learn nothin’.”

The words shook at Rick’s core; the implications, the idea of what had occurred between Merle and the Governor, and how many other countless people that had taken advantage before.

And then after…

“What’s up?” Merle was looking at him with some concern. “You look kinda sick.”

“I’m okay,” Rick nodded, far too quickly.

_I ain’t your Governor._

_But you still kid yourself, right?_

He forced himself to look at Merle again; and it was easier then, allowing himself to fall into faded blue eyes for longer than necessary.

Easier to forget everything else, and surely that was a part of the appeal, wasn’t it? To have another one of those tiny moments that'd translate into a precious memory, and to pretend like everything else wasn’t falling apart and going to shit.

So it made it that much harder when he felt the flinch against him, as his hand pressed a little too hard at Merle’s back.

The idea that Merle was perfectly capable of falling apart too.

“Sure you’re okay?” Merle had said, before Rick could even begin to ask him the same question. “Boat ain’t makin’ you seasick, is it?”

Rick shook his head, in part to convince himself.

“I’m fine. Even better than that, actually. In your company.”

“Hah. Thought you tolerated my company at best.”

Rick rolled his eyes, more habitually than anything else.

Then he leaned in, kissing Merle softer than usual, on the mouth. 

“Tolerate it enough to do that, dumbass?”

Merle’s smile turned to the ground. Rick wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

“Hah. Guess I just stopped kiddin’ myself, Friendly.”

"Well. You don't need to do that with me."

And Rick kissed him again, if only to bring the point home.

This time Merle melted into it. A hum that slid into a moan, and it was like a relief shared between them, because Rick was damn sure that neither of them was ever going to admit anything close to caring about each other, not beyond this.

And this was enough.

So it was far more of a shock when Merle laughed and muttered through the kiss. His voice breathless and face flushed, still shining with lake water;

“…goddamn. Kinda love you, Friendly…”

Maybe it shouldn’t have been so surprising.

It made sense that a reckless man would have a reckless heart, and Merle Dixon had always worn his on his sleeve, whether it be for the good, bad or just the plain mad.

This was probably mad, and Rick didn’t respond to those muttered words in any verbal capacity. Not that it mattered too much in the moments following it.

Too busy between tangled, wet limbs, pulling at soaked clothes, and then getting caught up in carnal instincts that were even more vehement than usual.

And neither of them mentioned the words after either.

It was better that way.

"...you okay?" was all Rick could muster, around blissful comedown.

Merle just looked up at him, dazedly happy around a short nod. And then an arm quivered around Rick's neck, pulling him back down for another kiss.

"...m' just fine..."

*

The journey back to Alexandria was uneventful, and their clothes were almost dry against warm sunset by the time they’d found a stop-off in the form of a deserted town.

It had proven more practical than the boathouse in some ways, and Rick stared at a newly acquired polaroid camera with some satisfaction.

“What’s that for?” Merle said.

“Photos, obviously,” Rick said, and took another snap of the town.

“I know that,” Merle grumbled, and looked over his shoulder at it. “I mean what for? Cos hate to break it to you, photography kinda died out with the-”

“You’ll see,” Rick interrupted, and pressed a hushing finger to his lips, effectively shutting him up. “Now be useful and help pick up those canned foods. We need to show the others this trip wasn’t a total waste of time.”

“Dunno. Could get used to wastin’ time like we did on that boathouse.”

Rick watched him slope off with a more affected smirk. It wasn’t like he was about to deny it, nor could he. _Damn it._

His finger twitched on the camera, and then he slowly raised it up again, framing the profiled view of Merle with a smirk.

He took another snap, breath baited for some reason, as he waited for the photo to develop and emerge.

“Little help here?” Merle was looking at him again. He frowned. “…what’re you doin’?”

Rick smiled at the photo, before quickly stuffing it in his jean pocket.

“Nothin’ at all.”

Then he ran over to help him.

**

**

Rick took Daryl, Michonne, Merle and a reluctant Tara with him to Oceanside.

The set up wasn’t intended to be an ambush, but that was what it became.

Within it he remembered how threatening Daryl could be with crossbow, how formidable Michonne was with a sword at someone’s neck, and then how damn dangerous Merle looked with a grin and a gun cocked at someone’s head.

“You didn’t give them any choice,” Tara said later. “That is _not_ what we agreed to.”

Rick scowled at her.

“What would you have had me do instead? Say ‘okay then, sorry to bother you’, and just be on our merry way? Try n’ find another community with a shitload of guns to help us out? Ain’t gonna happen.”

He knew he was out of line, only because of the way Merle raised a brow at him, and then walked away with a grim smile that suggested he didn’t want anything to do with him for a while.

Or maybe that was Rick’s own paranoia.

“You think this is wrong? What I’m doin’?” he asked the walkie talkie, a couple of days later.

There was static fuzzing on the other end for some long seconds.

“…you’re doin’ what you think is right. That’s all.”

Merle taking the diplomatic route was pretty unusual, but it also answered the question, more or less.

More static, and then;

“…you ain’t leader for nothin’, Friendly.”

Rick stared at the walkie talkie for a moment, as if it might present him with more words of consolation. It didn’t, and then the static faded out.

Rick rolled his eyes at the sky, fleeting seconds of frustration winning out into something more disparate, and he grasped the talkie tighter.

“…Merle?”

“…yeah?”

“…was thinkin' about what you said. On the boathouse.”

“Uh. I said _a lot_ of shit, Friendly.”

Rick clenched his jaw. “Yeah, I know. But I mean…”

He stared out at expanse of field set out before him, and then back down at the corpse still fresh at his feet. Blood was dripping from the knife that was still tensed in his hand. All white knuckled for some reason.

“…I feel the same.”

“…what?” Merle sounded confused. “…think you’re breakin’ up or somethin’…”

“…I feel the same, jackass.”

Rick pressed his lips together, and then switched the talkie off.

He spared the corpse in front of him another neutral look as he pulled the camera out and took a photo of it.

Then he moved on, toward the next outpost.

It was somehow easier, methodically slaying nameless people, than it was to have very meaningful conversation anymore.

Chalk it up to desperation, or that drive to finish off Negan, but maybe that was what had Michonne looking at him more carefully these days, or Carl spending more time with everyone else besides himself.

Or Merle, _goddamn Merle Dixon_ , playing his moral conscience for once, as if there might be a better way after all.

“Where’s Merle?” it was Daryl that met up with him first, along a deserted roadway.

“On his way,” Rick sat upon the grassy verge, wiping the rest of the blood off his hands. “You get 'em all?”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah. All done. Just like the co-ordinates said.”

He hung back, shading his eyes and squinting off into the distance. Ever on the alert, because that seemed to be Daryl Dixon’s default stance. As if Rick could blame him.

“When all this is over with, you gonna finish it? With Merle?”

Rick stared at him.

“I…I’m not going to do that.”

Daryl snorted.

“C’mon, man. You’re havin’ your fun. I get that. But you can’t drag it out like this.”

“What makes you think I’m ‘dragging’ something out?” Rick couldn’t help an incredulous sound, at the back of his throat. “You think I’m not…”

Daryl gave him a cagey look, like he might be daring him to finish the sentence.

Rick swallowed and stared at the ground.

He couldn't finish it. 

“Yeah. What I thought,” Daryl muttered, and turned away.

He didn’t say anything else, which was in part a relief, because when Daryl spoke more than a handful of words Rick supposed it really was serious business.

Merle arrived a couple of minutes later, accompanied by Michonne and Tara.

“All done,” Tara said, full of sarcasm. “Guess our man of the hour Dwight hasn’t failed us yet.”

Merle wiped the blood off his knife, casting her a grin.

“Still time to get your gory revenge, girl.”

“Don’t encourage her,” Michonne scolded, then looked at Rick. “What now? Negan’ll find out about all this soon enough.”

“I know,” Rick smiled grimly between them all, before flashing the even grimmer looking photographs at them. “So. Now we go see our new best friends at the junkyard.”

**

**

Negotiations with Jadis went smoothly enough.

Perhaps it helped that Rick was still appealing to her, as Merle liked to remind him almost constantly.

“Are you jealous?” Rick grinned, nudging him in the side.

It was a short and stolen moment between them, just outside the gates of Alexandria.

They’d stood out there too many times together to count at this point. It was almost becoming nostalgic.

“Hardly,” Merle said, round a familiar pout.

He swung his better arm up, pulling Rick into a brazen embrace.

“What’s this? Needier than usual, ain’t you, though?” Rick teased, but kissed him softer on the mouth. “…you really must be jealous.”

“Ain’t,” Merle murmured, but sounded sullen as he dropped his head, near to Rick’s chest.

“Don’t worry. She doesn’t hold a candle to you."

The metallic fencing clanked as Rick pushed Merle to it, all around a much hungrier kiss. And it was true, because if Jadis was a candle, he was fairly sure Merle was an entire house ablaze.

“…did you mean what you said before?” Merle sounded breathless, as they broke apart. 

“Mean what?”

“…what you said on the talkie. About...feelin' the same kinda way.”

Rick felt his mouth curve.

He nodded, because he didn’t need to think about it, nor did he need to think about what it really meant between them.

It would have been nice to say it, though.

“Course I meant it.”

Merle’s almost-smile slowly stretched, and then he leaned his head into Rick’s shoulder.

“Nice to know,” he sounded quietly relieved. “…no take-backs, Friendly.”

Rick pressed a kiss to his head. “Never.”

They stood unmoving for a short while, bathed in the sunset. And Rick felt warm, even as a chill wrapped through the air around them.

“What’s going on?” said another voice.

Rick snapped his head up, immediately pulling back in the same motion.

All in time to meet Carl’s blanched expression.

“Carl…”

Carl didn’t say anything for a laboured moment. His expression was entirely unreadable.

Then he just turned and walked back into Alexandria.

“ _Shit,_ ” Rick hissed, and his fist planted into the metal fence.

Merle flinched with it, and then took a step away.

“You should-”

Rick didn’t hear the rest of his words. He was already running after Carl.

**

“It’s nothing.”

He reiterated it enough times, so that maybe Carl would believe him. Or at least enough times to make himself believe it.

He told Carl he’d been comforting Merle and that was all. It made sense when the Negan situation had recently happened, and surely Carl wasn’t going to think he and Merle were actually…

“Is he okay?” Carl asked. He looked at Rick as if he was considering something more complicated than that. “I didn’t know…”

“He’s okay,” Rick interrupted, in quick assurance. “It’s all okay.”

_It’s nothing._

He held onto the idea through the rest of the day, and then took it outside that evening, where he found Merle in his usual spot; fixed at Alexandria’s gates on guard duty.

He waved, accompanying a weak smile.

“…hey, Friendly.”

“Hey.”

Rick took a seat, a small but significant distance away.

It wasn’t intentional, but there it was. Even if he wanted to reach out and tell Merle how sorry he was.

Only because Daryl was right, in the end.

_Can’t drag it out._

“…we can’t do this anymore.”

Merle blinked, his smile barely wavering. 

“Yeah, man. I know.”

Not even a sound of protest, or anything that suggested it was worth or needed an explanation.

It was as if Merle had expected it, and that was what made it unbearable.

Never mind the way he turned his head, redirecting that smile onto something non-existent in the distance. Nor the way he tugged at the ground, pulling up bits of grass with a tensed and single hand.

Rick still wanted to grasp it, and so he did.

“I’m sorry-”

The hand pulled away, and Merle settled him a more indignant stare.

“Don’t do that now…” he said, jaw clenching. “Ain’t fair.”

“I…”

Merle was standing up before Rick could consider any sort of protest. It was for the best, he realised. He didn’t have the right to protest anything. And nothing he could have said would have been enough. Nothing that Merle deserved, anyway.

"It's okay," Merle said, around a shrug. "We was...was just some good fun for a while, weren't it?"

And that was that.

Left alone in the dark, Rick allowed himself a soft and embittered laugh that echoed all about the deserted town.

It was strange, really. For all the terrible things he’d done, all the morally questionable choices he’d made in the last few months and weeks, this one felt like the most despicable.

More strange, feeling like the bad guy in this new world, when he hadn’t actually killed anyone for once.

And the aftermath hurt far more.

Daryl’s unexpected (but should have been expected) knuckles in the face, or Michonne’s smile, which was too stilted to be very comforting, and then the vast emptiness that found him in those moments when he’d usually be touching familiar and scarred flesh.

Instead he found himself staring at the ceilings of random houses, and wondering why every other distraction, including the Negan dilemma, didn’t really help.

Maybe it was because Merle still talked to him. Even _smiled_ at him, though it didn’t reach his eyes anymore.

He still did everything else too, like some dutiful member of the community. Because wasn’t that what he was, now?

“Kid’s comin’ along pretty nicely,” he said, a few days later. “Got some good reflexes on him.”

And he was still teaching Carl how to fight, too.

Rick watched them both on the edges of the field sometimes, feeling like he was going mad. 

“That’s good,” he said, uselessly. “Thanks. For teaching him.”

“No problem. Sorry ‘bout the shiner, by the way. Didn’t know the baby brother were responsible til this mornin’.”

“I deserved it.”

Merle’s lip curled. “I ain’t mad at you, y’know.”

He turned away then, because Carl was already called him back onto the field, all with an impatience that indicated they’d been over this so many times before now.

“Of course he isn’t mad,” Michonne told Rick, a while later. “I doubt that dummy even knows how to be mad at you anymore.”

She hadn’t lectured him, nor said anything else about Merle at all, until that very moment. But it still hurt, like some deft poke at his conscience.

"It doesn't have to change anything, you know," she said. "Carl probably-"

"It was never gonna work anyway," Rick interrupted, waspishly. "Daryl knew it, I knew it...hell, Merle apparently knew it too. It's for the best."

Michonne looked more concerned than unconvinced. 

She scraped her chair back from the table and stood up with a lofty expression.

"At least you were happy."

**

“You look like shit, Friendly.”

There was something warm and familiar in Merle’s voice, like an echo of months long since passed, when they were back at the prison and still getting to grips with each other.

Of course Rick’s immediate instinct was to pull him in, kiss him and tell him how much he’d missed him. How much he’d missed everything about him.

“Gonna need you on the outskirts,” he said instead. “You’ll be paired with one of Jadis’s people. Same as Michonne and Daryl. All on look-out.”

Merle nodded. “Sure thing, Sheriff.”

It was surreal, realising that this was the day they took Negan down.

Rick had expected it to feel different. Not hopeful, exactly, but something better than this. And Tara still looked at him as if he’d betrayed her, even if she didn’t say it.

“What if we die?” she wondered bluntly.

“Jesus,” said Merle. “Miss Optimism. Really inspirin’ us with the speeches here.”

Rick frowned.

“Not promising this ain’t gonna get ugly. But we got people on our side now. We got weapons and we know how to _fight_.”

He looked between the gathered group, and most of them were looking at him as if he knew what he was doing. Rick wondered if they were all just so desperate.

The groups dispersed as Jadis’s people came into view, armed and ready.

“Need to tell you somethin’, Friendly,” Merle said suddenly. “Before all this goes down. Or to shit.”

He smiled at Rick as he moved closer, and it looked different.

His single hand shook slightly as it covered Rick’s, and it was the shortest squeeze, but enough to pull a startled breath out of Rick.

And when he looked at Merle he realised he wasn’t really smiling at all. And he looked afraid.

“Don’t do anythin’ dumb, Friendly. Like gettin’ yourself killed. Kid ain’t gonna like that.”

“I’ll try not to…” and Rick trailed off, because Merle was already walking away.

Rick turned back round to see Daryl watching him, gaze uncompromising in it's severity.

"Must've fallen damn hard for you."

Clearing his throat, Rick turned his attention to Jadis, who was at the gates, gun posed and waiting for Negan’s arrival.

Just beyond the town were the derelict buildings that her and a select group of Rick’s people were hiding out in. Merle included.

The buildings were little more than misted outlines from that distance, but Rick still squinted, as if he might get a clearer view of the figures waiting there anyway.

In the same instant, he heard the roll up of the truck, before Negan’s voice.

"Hey little pigs. Open up."

Stomach tightening, but in more anticipation than nerves this time, Rick stepped up to the top of Alexandria’s gates.

Negan was standing at the entrance way, accompanied by a couple of Saviours, flanking his sides. His grin was broader than usual.

“What’s this? Not rollin’ open the gates for me? This ain’t a fly-by visit, Rick. Got serious matters to attend to.”

Rick smiled. “Yeah. Figured that.”

His hand twitched at his concealed gun.

Not yet, he could wait.

He jerked his head down at Jadis, indicating for her to join him.

“So,” Negan said, Lucille tapping somewhat delicately at the gate. “What’s the magic word? Or am I gonna have to huff n' puff my way in?”

Rick shook his head, allowing his smile to reach some more.

“Ain’t happenin’ today. Hate to break it to you.”

Negan’s mouth moved into a pout that was entirely sarcastic.

“Aw. That ain’t how we play the game, Rick. See, I got a lot of interestin’ things to discuss with you today.”

He propped his bat against the gate, before digging into his pocket.

There, he took out what looked like a rectangular piece of paper, and as Rick squinted, he thought he recognised it as a photograph.

“Seems like you been up to some real shit since I’ve been gone.”

Negan held the photo up, grin flashing some more as Rick realised what it was.

His chest clenched and his limbs felt frozen in place for some terrible seconds. 

“You n’ your spunky redneck friend lookin’ all compromised like that. In a junkyard, no less. Daresay you’ve been caught in some way more compromisin’ positions together though.”

He laughed, and the sound of something sharp and loud hit Rick’s ear, before a burning sensation scraped painfully at his hip.

He fell to his knees and looked blearily up, to see Jadis training a smoking shotgun on him, her smile quirking unevenly. 

Then Rick looked down, to see the blood blossoming all around his side.

_Shit._

“Oh shit,” Negan laughed again. “See, two can play at that game, Rick.”

He raised a hand, and a ripple of guns directed themselves at the gates.

At the same time Rick heard the snapped sounds of more gunshots cutting through the air. He looked wide eyed in the direction of the derelicts.

“Oh no,” Negan said. “They some of yours too? That’s a damn shame.”

He picked Lucille back up, and then batted at the gate with some impatience.

“Now open up, Rick. Gonna have to teach your sorry ass another tedious lesson here.”

The doors opened slowly, and Rick felt dizzied, still on his knees and absorbing both Jadis’s betrayal and the current nightmare which was Negan through a numbed blur.

He stared past his jeering face, his white-noise words, and focused on the dusky sky, trying to recall where it had all gone so badly wrong. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen, he distantly realised.

This was supposed to be their reprieve. A chance to prove to doubtful faces that this was their second chance, and that Glenn and Abraham and Denise’s deaths and everyone else’s suffering hadn’t been for nothing.

A chance to tell Merle that he was _right_ to believe in him. That he was still someone to believe in.

That respectable person Rick barely recalled from an old life.

But...how would he be able to do that now, if Merle was already dead?

Rick blinked, feeling listless as the realisation seeped, like the blood of his gunshot wound, all around him.

The crowd parted as Negan directed his bat past him, and Carl moved to the front.

He stood before Negan with a face that was trying not to be terrified.

And something hoarse, like a brittle sob, left Rick, as he attempted to reach him.

Oh, but this wasn’t supposed to happen.

_Respectable person?_

_Ha. What a joke._

**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was a bit all over the place and also a bit ott. It also includes a really bad cliffhanger. sorry about all that.  
> Please leave a review if you can spare the time. Even one word goes a long way to help keep me motivated.
> 
> I appreciate all the comments thus far, thank you so much for continuing to humour me and this rare pair! :)


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